Happy Tree Royale
by 8bitmatter
Summary: 36 denizens of the Happy Tree Friends universe have been selected for a secret project by an unknown entity. It's do or die in a cruel game of survival for all involved. Trust, loyalty, and friendship will all be put to the test; because after all. Fighting your best friend to the death is easy. It's fighting to stay alive that's the hard part. (Anthro) (OC Submissions Closed)
1. Name of the Game

**Author's Note: Sorry this took so long to get out, on vacation in New York and what not. In addition, I also apologize for one, the lack of quality and correct grammar this may or may not have. I kind of rushed to get this out, so if there are any conspicuous mistakes, please notify me so i can rectify them. Also, there are still 3 spots open if you wish to submit your OC, speaking of, I'm also sorry that not each one is utilized in this orientation scene, just couldn't fit it all in. With that said, please enjoy and forgive the noobishness. Onto the show!**

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It was the sound of rainfall that carpeted their journey from the unconscious realm back to the real world. Soothing to some, irritating to others, the rain pitter-pattered on in a constant drone that gradually faded into little more than an abstruse source of sound pollution in the background. Hardly any of the waking soon-to-be contestants of this Battle Royale paid the noises any mind at first, though given that thirty-six of them would soon awaken to find themselves and their neighbors strapped to a plush chair with metal cuffs on their hands and collars around their necks, well, you had to admit that a little rain wasn't really on the top of anybody's priorities right now. Instead, the knockout gases that had been pumped into their lungs with a mixture of oxygen and nitrogen wore off steadily as more and more individuals came to in their own ways.

Instead, as Cuddles came out of his unconscious fugue, he got a fairly vigorous whiff of the wet, cold air mainlined into his respiratory system. It was a kind of air that usually wasn't available back home, except for during wintertime. He liked this air, very brisk and refurbishing. But what he didn't like was this immense feeling of disorientation and grogginess.

With a great yawn, and yet another mouthful of cold oxygen to help galvanize his lethargic mind, Cuddles instinctively tried to raise his hands to rub the sleep out of his eyes, with no success. He was met with some unknown resistance that forced his arms at his sides, as well as he wasn't quite sure if he could even feel his arms. Strange…Maybe he just fell asleep with his head on his arms, or in some unusual position that cut off the blood circulation to them, thus explaining the numbness and lack of motor control.

What had happened? The last he could remember, he was on an airplane. Yeah, an airplane that he and…thirty-six others if he was counting correctly, had been delegated as conveyance to a luxurious weekend on some island resort, that's what was in the brochure anyhow. Yeah, yeah…after a good while of sluggish rumination, a few pieces of the puzzle as well as miscellaneous tidbits of reminiscence came back to him.

He remembered he was drinking from his personal flask full of Johnny Walker Black while talking with one of the Tree Friends who had also been auspicious enough to be have been allocated a spot on the plane. She had apparently come with her uncle Pop, and his son/ her cousin Cub She seemed very grounded and down-to-earth; overall a cool chick, if not a tad brusque. Her name was Cinnamon. He could recall skating with the bear girl a few times, as well as a grimacing at the fact Giggles would often urge him to avoid her for some inexplicable reason. "_She's a bad influence", doubt it, Giggles' probably just jelly._

The bunny's face stretched into a broad grin for a few seconds at the thought, before returning to the same pensive stare he had on before.

He didn't really catch the girl's last name as he'd been trying hard not to stare at her fairly large breasts; or rather, trying hard not to get caught staring at her breasts. Sure he was with Giggles in a romantic union, but hey, he was a male _and _a rabbit. You couldn't blame him. After all, there was hardly a better excuse than something intrinsically hereditary. Right?

No harm no foul anyhow, it's not like she'd really seemed to notice (nor her ever present boyfriend and local "superhero" Splendid); something that he remembered being very thankful for. He also remembered her laughing at a joke that he'd told while she tried to stifle a yawn. But after that, everything was a blank.

There was no way that he could still be on the plane, could he? The sounds, smells and feelings didn't match what he remembered about the plane. Everything felt…off. It was too quiet and too damp for the pressurized cabin of a private jet. But if he _was_ still aboard, why was it so dark and why did everything feel so…so _wrong_? So what had happened? Things had gotten hazy and he had been thinking maybe he was overdoing the booze... He definitely recalled being tipsy and nearly toppling into one of the girls at one point. Had he gotten soused and passed out? No hangover though, that was strange.

Still, he had promised Giggles to dial back the alcohol after this whole shindig; maybe he ought to start now. This was going to be his one last purge with potent potables in this Shangri-La esque paradise, but still, maybe it was for the best. Marriage, he would stop the drinking there. Great as the parties and pub-hopping sprees he'd miss out on may be, the booze was poison. He couldn't keep it up forever. Giggles did have a point, even if she always worried too much. She worried about his drinking. She worried about his associates and habits. Do this, don't eat that, stay on a diet, don't go skateboarding, that could kill you (as if that's never happened). It was enough to drive anyone nuts. Still... she meant well, right? But come on, nothing ever happened, nothing ever will. Well, he died a few times, but who cares…they always come back to life the very next day good as new.

But he had been out cold for what felt like days. For the life of him, he couldn't recall what it was that knocked him out nor did he realize where exactly he was. There was only the soundtrack of rain echoing from outside, giving no real clue to his whereabouts. No humming of the airplane engines, nor the familiar vibrations of the plane as it echoed throughout the metallic frame of the aircraft was conspicuously absent.

He wasn't sure how long he had been unconscious, but the lack of sensation in his body was definitely a telltale sign that things were wrong. His entire body ached and felt heavier than it ought to. With the intention of getting some grasp of his surroundings, the yellow rabbit raised his weary head from his chest, eyes opening to surprising comfort in the absence of light, save for a number of weak, drifting LED lights. Fighting the figurative ton of cotton forcing down his eyelids, Cuddles willed the sleep to go away with a few quick blinks. He winced as the pain from his eyes and temples abated for just the slightest bit.

As dark as the world around him was, his steadily focusing eyes progressively began to pick up on subtle shapes and shadows, which his cognizance immediately began to associate with bodies of a bipedal structure. As far as he could tell, most were around his age. Teenage boys and girls alike, perhaps a few that looked considerably older or younger.

In the seat just a head of him, the prominently yellow construction hardhat adorning Handy's head starkly contrasted the mantle of darkness that was their enigmatic dungeon.

Each of them was sitting (or strapped?) in pairs of lush cushioned chairs lined with crimson plush, the kind you'd see at the cinema theaters. If not for the screen that remained unlit, he might have mistakenly thought they were in attendance for a midnight showing of Back to the Future.

Although it wasn't noticeable at first, the ring of overhead lights came on with minimal intensity, enough that he could begin to discern sights. Instead, Cuddles found himself increasingly bemused as he craned his neck to look around the room.

Not everybody was out cold. While it was arguable that Cuddles was the first to be completely conferred sound of mind, there were two or three others were upright and looking around, while more than a few others were already stirring in their seats. Catching sight of a familiar face, he took note that these people were the same folks on the airplane. All around him, as his bearings came more and more apparent, the moans and groans were becoming louder and more lucid. The once unintelligible whispers and murmurs were turning into soft words of understandable confusion.

Immediately after the revelation at whom these people were, a second one dawned on him like a sledgehammer (albeit, non-fatally). They were no longer _on_ the plane. It was that last realization that sent a brief shiver racing up his spine.

Just what the hell had happened to them? Why weren't they on the plane? Had they actually crashed? And if they had, where the in hell _were_ they?

Clearly he wasn't the only person wondering this, given that the person next to him vocalized their own concerns with a confused, "Where the fuck am I?"

The yellow rabbit craned his neck to where he heard the acoustic signature, and was greeted with the questionable privilege of witnessing Petunia's struggling within her own binds. He knew Petunia, that was his best friend Toothy's longtime girlfriend, and his own girlfriend Giggles best friend. Her long azure hair swishing and whipping aside with each futile contortion, making the blue skunks attempts all the more pitiful (and admittedly entertaining in a macabre sense).

Cuddles could see her teeth clench and her eyes morphing from a grim fascination, to a feral worry as her plight gradually became more pronounced. Feebly she tried getting to her feet, to no avail. What was so weird about her fruitless resistance was the emphatic clattering that she made with each motion. And that's when he peered down at her wrists.

Anxiety set in when he noticed the restraints that kept Petunia from leaving her chair. There were metal bands on her armrests that were clipped around her wrist, in addition to a collar of similar design on her neck.

Panic erupted when he tried to move closer and found himself caught in identical restraints. Wrists, ankles, all four of his limbs were bound to the chair by silver bands. He couldn't look far enough down to confirm, but seeing them attached to everybody else's necks, he had to assume he bore the collar too.

"What the hell's going on here?" His question was met with only the background murmurs from those who were awake.

More and more people were awakening, some roused by their seatmates, others coming to of their own accords. Much like himself, their questions were etched on their faces. _Where am I? Why am I here? What is going on?_ Nobody seemed to have any idea what was going on, and from there, it was only a matter of time before the room erupted in a cacophonic symphony of cries and shrill screams.

"What the hell?"

"Josie, are you here?"

"Where are we?"

"Motherfuck!"

"Why do I feel so sick?"

"What is this?"

"OH SHIT!"

"Daddy, where are you?!"

To the slower contestants, confusion still reigned supreme. The disorienting effects of the drugs still held some level of sway, as evidenced by how many were still on the slow and sluggish side. Try and hold it back as much as he might, Splendid vomited mightily in the space between his seat and Josie's. Stupefied and in a bit of shock, Fang, kept trying to stand up. And every time she tried to stand her bound wrists pulled her down, every time she would repeat the action.

While most of the Tree Friends were up and about in nothing short of utter confusion, Cuddles was one of the few that noticed the man slip into the room.

To his credit, the steel door's creak was tacit enough to be drowned in the din of the thirty-six member choir of disarray and fracas. Combined with the fact his appearance was done so in as unobtrusive a way as possible. The door itself was a panel sunk into the paneled walls at the side of the room, where its faded outline was the only hint of the passage's existence. He stepped into the room with a look that suggested he could smell some sort of stench. In his hands he held a clipboard, a neat blue pen snagged on the top. He droned towards the center of the room like a drill sergeant, the emphatic echoing of his combat boots making Cuddles' heart skip beats with each clop on the tiled floor. Briskly and with purpose, he strutted past the several stunned students in the first row, leaving behind the remnant scent of must.

Coming up to the front of the room, he stood before the screen and turned to face the students.

"Before I have the lights turned on, I wish to make a few things perfectly clear. First, you will be quiet from this point out and will not speak until spoken to. I will tolerate no delinquent outbursts. Second, your plane did not crash and everyone who was on that flight has been accounted for and is here in this room right now. Third, I will reiterate the first rule: You will not speak until you are spoken to. If you speak out of turn, you will face severe consequences. And finally, I fully expect my rules to be obeyed once the lights come on."

It wasn't until that brusque announcement was made that all occupants of the velvet chairs gave their undivided attention to the diplomatically clad man. Then without any sort of warning, the overhead spotlights flickered to life, shining down an abrupt twin ray of converged white light on the figure. A deafening silenced reigned within the room, even the inconsolable tears of Cub was mitigated down to a wimpy murmur.

Standing before them was a tall, muscular stalwart of a tiger; a blue stubble synergizing with the innate cerulean that was the rest of his fur. His countenance conveyed a perspicuous amount of disdain as his lips pursed into a malevolent snarl.

He then smirked maliciously, punctuating his visage with, "Hmm, aren't you all a lovely bunch."

The screen behind him flickered on, cycling through a few faces (some of which he recognized, others he didn't) before zooming in on the newcomer's face. For the first time, Cuddles noticed the surreptitious cameras that had been installed all over the room, the most prominent of which was installed where he would expect the projector to be.

"You'd think the majority of you would have the rectitude to properly address an elder reflexively. Humph, serves you right." He added, not at all hesitating with his venomous tone; and this almost ubiquitously haunted the restrained soon-to-be contestants.

With a firm sequence of clap of the hands, a trio of facsimile uniformed men marched in with haste, the jingling and thumping of their boots and equipment making an odd rhapsody of boot camp noises. They then stood at attention, raising their hands in a patriotic salute as they took various positions in unison around their apparent leader.

_It can't be! Is that an _automatic rifle_? Terrorists?_

As Cuddles maneuvered his head around to follow the man, his eyes found even more men clad in camouflage uniforms. Each one of them was expertly holding an automatic assault rifle and wearing an expression that could only be described as 'sour' or 'angry'. There had to be more than ten of them standing there in a rank and file sort of way.

It was then that he noticed that they were all blue tigers and that the look they wore wasn't 'sour' or 'angry'; it was the look of men trained to kill, men who _had_ killed. Cuddles has more than once bared witness to that sort of physiognomy on the likes of Flippy. And like him, he was sure that they had killed (Fuck, Cuddles himself was murdered by Flippy on a regular basis, and he was inured to it by now); far more than once.

They made Cuddles shudder.

"Well, my name isn't important, you may simply refer to me as 'The Director'.

_We must've been hijacked_, the cream colored bunny found himself thinking unsteadily as he scanned the large room. _That's gotta be the answer. The only one that makes any sense! The camouflage, the guns, the threats; that_ has _to be it!_

"What is important however…is what will unfold, its inception to these rhetorical happenstances begins now." The Director ominously recited, as Speedia tried slipping his one working arm out of its cuff for the umpteenth time.

"Think of this…sort of like a social experiment. If you will." The blue tiger said with a despicable mien about him, one that made almost everyone at least a modicum less comfortable than they already were. "Well, for me at least…for the rest of you that would be a fairly misleading title, a game would be better." The Director balefully chuckled at the word 'game'.

"Now, this is a secret game…not even your governing body is totally aware of its inception nor proceeds, and an alibi has already been filed for your disappearance."

That raised a sense of burning inquiry (as well as fear) in more than a few Tree Friends, and The Director made full awareness of this.

Suddenly, The Director stopped in the middle of his sentence. Surveying all of their terrified and troubled faces, his previously vacant face suddenly broke into a grin.

"I see", he sighed. "This still hasn't sunken in yet, has it? Killing each other? Well, let me be of assistance. You see, in my class, when the students fail to pay attention, I ask them a question".

Almost instantly, The Director's eyes scanned the room and locked on a certain purple deer with French clown make up adorning his face. Mime was exactly like a deer caught in the headlights once this happened, even more so given he was a deer.

"You must be Mime…Number Five. I was informed in here that at least one of you was dumb, I.E. can't talk. Well, let's see if you can answer my question. I'll make it easy for an idiot. Say the sentence, 'We will kill each other.'"

Mime's eyes stared forward, and on the back of his neck, a trickle of sweat poured down.

"That's not fair!" Giggles suddenly shrieked. "You know he can't answer the question! He's a Mime, _you jackass_!" Cuddles easily recognized the shrill, feminine voice as his girlfriend's. And given the rifles in the soldier's hands, the grim and enigmatic atmosphere, and the general dire of the situation, he got all the more anxious. Cuddles mentally screamed for her to step down, he didn't know what would happen, but he figured, as the saying went, "The squeakiest wheel is the first one to be replaced."

If this statement were to be taken out of context, it would've been misconstrued as an inanely idiotic observation. But given the fact that Mime had never been seen uttering a single tangible word, or ever broken his interminable vow of silence, it was obvious that this was either an intrinsic physical defect, or a principal that he would usually uphold until the bitter end (given even during serious injury and immense pain and death Mime would seldom make even a sound).

"If I remember from your files, you're the chipmunk known as Giggles, Number Thirty-Three, am I correct?"

She nodded, but Cuddles could only imagine she was shaking in her skin.

"Well, let me tell you something, Ms. Giggles. In this life, nobody is born equal. We are born unequal and we will die unequal; Mime is just like everybody else. That takes into account of things like disabilities. Now, Giggles, if you interrupt me again, these fellows here will have to take you of the running for the competition."

The soldiers all cocked their pistols with a horrible clicking sound, but there was no need; Giggles had her mouth shut as if her life depended on it (It would certainly seem that way). Still grinning, the tiger glanced down at the clipboard in his hands.

"Now, Mime", The Director continued with a dangerous serenity. "Simple-minded Mime. Answer my question. Say the sentence, "We will kill each other." This time around however, The Director deftly retrieved a butterfly knife, flicking it out in a practiced maneuver and directing the blade right aside Mime's jugular as a loud series of gasps emitted in unison.

Mime's lips moved, sputtering wildly as the terror in his system heightened into new levels as his movements were stifled from his arm and leg restraints. He made sounds, but none of them were any knowledgeable words. His eyes were brimming with tears.

With a long-suffering sigh, he put more pressure on the blade, leaving an indent in the terrified deer's throat. After a tense while of faltering and immense miens of fear residing in the room, The Director surprisingly relinquished.

Looking around with predatory eyes, he retracted the blade away and resumed to his prior stance as Mime mimed a sigh of relief. He then stated with a long-suffering sigh, "As much as I would've loved to get him to talk, and despite his clear defiance of me…I do not implement overly stringent rules in my class nor do I favor premature eliminations, but I will demand basic etiquette. If I call upon you, I expect you to answer. If I do not, I expect you to remain silent. Now, can I have… let's start with Number Twelve. That's you, Miss Flaky."

The overhead camera swiveled to zoom in on the face of the demure red porcupine, her face unsure and filled to the brim with fear. Her spiny bangs encroaching the outer rim of her forehead and cheeks, "Uhhh, y-y-yes?"

"Come on Miss Flaky," The Director stated with just a bare hint of a smile, "Go ahead and ask a question."

Flaky was obviously quite confused with the happenings, and while technically no catastrophe had afflicted her just yet (as far as she could tell with 100% binding certainty)…she just had a premonition that she really, _really _shouldn't be here.

"Umm…y-you said this was a game, right?" Flaky asked with waning confidence. To which the tiger nodded accordingly, corroborating her question with correctitude. "Well…what exactly…is the game?"

"_Ohh, _I was hoping you would ask that." The Director snarled beastily, causing Flaky to contort within her bindings, attempting to elude the nasty gaze.

"Well…I'll make this simple. You're all on an island, and you've all been selected for my personal entertainment, as participants in this stimulation. In this stimulation…you'll all be forced to compete until only one person remains."

A grim tidal wave of confusion, denial, and disbelief swarmed the thirty-six Tree Friends with a brunt that was off the scales. A few grumbles and rouses of air pollution began to emanate from within the room, earning the ire of the tiger before them.

"Like I was saying, you have all been selected for what I like to call, "The most dangerous game". What it is, put plain and simple: You will be given weapons and forced to kill each other. That is the basis of this game. You're currently in the school on Mondo Island and you will all be held captive here until it's down to the last man or woman standing."

The Program Instructor began with: "Every year, the Program takes place in a new location. Sometimes it's a jungle, sometimes it's a ghetto, sometimes it's an abandoned university campus. This year, we have brought you to a more… secluded locale. We are on an island known as Mondo. All you need to know is that the entire place was evacuated within the past few days in preparation for this. We told them it was due to threat of a terrorist attack, which was more than enough to encourage them to cooperate."

The Director then gestured towards the door. It was opened once more and two soldiers wheeled in a large Bellman cart. There were thirty-six duffle bags piled on the cart. Each of the bags had the numbers between 1 and 36 stitched onto it.

The Director directed everyone's attention to the cart and announced "You'll be given these supply packs. Inside them, you'll find some provisions that will last you over the next few days. You will each get bottled water, field rations, a map, a compass, a flashlight, and a watch. As well as any personal effects you may have had on your person prior to orientation, excluding weapons anyhow." The Director then shot personal daggers with his eyes directed at Blaze, causing the normally steely wolf to unconsciously lurch back out of unease.

"What differentiates each pack is that a randomly pre-assigned weapon will be loaded in each pack. Depending on chance, you may receive anything from a firearm to a mundane household item. The purpose of randomization is to even out the odds for each participant – the best fighters among you may not necessarily receive the best weapons. In a fair fight, someone like Miss Coral would almost certainly lose to someone like Mister Blaze, yet by randomization she may receive a gun to Mr. Blaze's spoon, shall we say. These weapons are designed to help you survive and eliminate the other participants."

"Random chance will not be the only determinant in how well equipped you will be. You will be able to gain other weapons or supplies. In addition to robbing other contestants or taking whatever supplies you find within the simulation field, the operators of the simulation have decided that the most and least valuable players in every six hour period, taking into account their intention to play, present status, weapons, and allies, will receive the chance to compete for a weapon. However, no player will be eligible more than once in twenty-four hours."

The Director then moved over to the laptop plugged into the projector, fumbled around a bit with the portable computer, and as a result, a basic rectangle was ten inches in length on each side. Then the rectangle was divided into ten rows, and split each of the rows into ten columns. Each of the rows had a letter in the English alphabet from A to J in descending vertical order and each of the columns had a number from 1 to 10 in descending horizontal order. But the focal point of this entire diagram was the large black "X" on the square labeled "C-5."

Now that this was on the projector screen for everyone to see, The Director turned to the class and announced "Mondo Island encompasses an approximate total of about ten square miles in length and width, each divided into different zones. Your current location – the city's main high school – is located right here in C-5. I will remain here with the soldiers throughout the duration of the game, monitoring your progress. There are cameras installed all over the island; we'll be watching you from every corner."

The Director then pointed out the sides of the square and announced "While I imagine a few of you have formulated a strategy that involves swimming, Coral…" The merfox just felt like burying herself away in her arms, but was not granted that privilege given the cuffs forcing her arms in place.

"That will not be possible, given that if you swim out to a certain distance away from the islands epicenter, past these flamboyantly bright orange buoys, your collar will be activated. In addition, there are boat patrols that will diligently monitor the area, and surveillance systems have all been established on the aquatic crafts as well. So you can forsake any hope of escaping through ocean."

He turned back to the class and went on: "Some of you like Splendid here may have plans to just avoid playing the game altogether and instead just spend the time hiding out. That would be a foolish idea. You can certainly spend some of your time hiding out, but eventually you will be drawn out of your comfort spots. Because where you hide may turn out to be a danger zone. What is a danger zone? Well, that's where those necklaces you are wearing come in to play."

A metallic screech echoed out as Shifty let out an infuriated shriek rivaling that of a banshee. His facial features were twisted into a fury that equaled the vitriol within his voice. "Excuse me, game?! This is just a game to you? How can you say something like that when my brother-"

"Your twin brother," The Director smiled toxically, "is far more well-bred than you are, Mr. Shifty, if this outburst is of any indication. Your ill manners aside, I stand corrected as Mr. Shifty informs me – the accurate word choice here is 'simulation'. 'Game' is indeed a misnomer, but I digress."

As he turned away from Shifty, he deliberately met the eyesight of the aforementioned twin brother, Lifty, who looked as though he would have a difficult time restraining himself if not for the metal wrist and ankle cuffs. The Director tapped his pen on the clipboard. "The most important thing here is your designated collar."

There was a flurry of murmurs as many noticed the metal bands fitted around their throats for the first time. Having sit by and watched the debacle between Shifty and the tiger who called himself "The Director", Cuddles blinked and looked over to his seatmate Petunia. The skunk girl was trying to examine her own collar, but found it impossible to bend her chin far enough down to do so. Having encountered similar trouble with his, Cuddles instead tried to examine Petunia's as she twisted in her chair. The metal collar was smooth and crafted out of seamless metal. There was no way to slip the ringlet off without breaking the collar itself. The front of its curved surface held a series of flashing lights, as well as a digital monitor readout that showed her denomination '17'.

"Your collar is loaded with a radio-activated explosive," The Director said, "and can also be triggered by attempting to remove your collar, being in specific locations, or when you attempt to violate certain rules. They will also monitor your pulse and enable us to know that you are still alive. Once you are released into the simulation location, your collar will be the only companion you cannot separate from. I suggest you get acquainted."

His lips curved upward, perhaps indicating that what he had said was supposed to be a joke of some sort.

The Director smiled and went on "Furthermore, they are also waterproof, shockproof, fireproof, and cannot be safely removed by the wearer without a specific set of tools. If you are caught in a danger zone at any time, or if you try removing your collar, your necklace will detonate! I'm certain you can guess what will happen. Truthfully, I'm not entirely certain. Sometimes the skin around the throat is blown off and sometimes the head is blown to pieces. Most likely, your head will be severed from your vertebrae."

Several people shuddered at how calmly he explained the collars' capabilities to them.

"And just to demonstrate just how serious I am, how about a little movie?" The commander said with faux alacrity.

With a signaling from his superior, one of the soldiers pulled up a laptop and plugged it into a projector. And as the projector screen transitioned from a grainy overview of the thirty-six trapped animals reflected in front of themselves, to a video feed. What was seen on the screen was Cro-Marmot, or at least that's what Cuddles could surmise, it was hard to tell considering the ever-present block of stalwart ice that he was always encased in was perspicuously absent, _what the fuck is this shit? What's going on?_

As far as Cuddles could tell, he appeared to just be stirring awake, not too dissimilar to the very plight he and the thirty-five other inmates in this oppressive prison of a room. As the disembodied marmot began to mull over his surroundings, clearly the state of being thawed out an entirely foreign experience and prospect to his antiquated mind and cognizance. In addition to the missing ice, his bulky wooden club was also not present.

Though, one thing that was present, blatantly so, was the seamless metal collar around his neck. So reminiscent of a leash, and given Cro-Marmot's shaggy hair and generally unkempt appearance and disposition, it reminded Cuddles all the more of a lost puppy.

The dubiety of Cro-Marmot's lack of ice casing was only superimposed with the horrifying nature of that mysterious collar that they all had. The collar had a neon green LED light infused on it that periodically blinked in tandem with his heart rate (beating faster now given the state of panic he had to have been in).

"What the fuck are you doing to him?" a feminine voice cried out. Given the verbal hints of feminine, masculine, and pure 'I could kick your ass if I wanted to' attitude. Cuddles inferred that it was Cinnamon who vocalized that statement.

Many eyebrows were raised in confusion, as well as murmurs of marred perplexion and morbid fascination rose with the eyebrows. But the confusion was encased in a figurative cabinet of fear. _What the hell is going on here?_

The Director ignored the earlier question and instead nodded to the soldier as he rapidly typed something on the laptop.

Suddenly, the cave-marmot's collar transformed its LED from vivid neon green, to a malevolent red light, eliciting a pulse of bewilderment from the trapped Neanderthal. Given in live-action what was going on, Cuddles as well as every other animal being force fed this visual bombardment of terror and depravity

The beeping soon got up in several beeps per second as the prehistoric mammal began to wildly look around, a primeval terror in his just barely visible eyes. After a few seconds the collar was picking up in speed, Cro-Marmot's hands scrambling to try to unravel this malicious leash as he wildly twisted around, scrambling in circles without cohesion.

Now the beeps had gotten really fast, almost like a drum roll. Cro-Marmot had screamed, visually that's what it looked like anyways. Cuddles could only surmise it was a scream, it could've been nothing, or a prayer, or just a prolonged obscenity, but there was no sound on the video stream, so nobody could hear him.

A tremendous sense of sympathy and nausea began to glaze over Cuddles, _how could this happen? _And he wasn't the only one, as Cuddles once more futilely tried to wrench himself out of this torture chair, away from this depraved display. He caught vague glimpses of other's whose eyes were widened in terror and countenances that conveyed nothing but unadulterated gloom and horror.

The collar was practically glowing at this point, Cro-Marmot clambered around, trying to yank off the leash, trying to escape with a vehement bout of kicking and screaming…doing anything he thought he could do to circumvent his fate.

Then it happened. The thing that every single person in that room feared would.

In a flash of sparks and a fierce fulmination, the collar detonated. In a succession, Cro-Marmot had gone from shifting back into consciousness, to a feral being trying to escape the inevitable, to a corpse whose head and body had gone their separate ways. Amidst the slew of cauterized and abraded blood and gore, if one's sight was acute enough, the top half of Cro-Marmot's skull could be seen toppling away like an unbalanced top from hell.

Almost as if to parody the situation, Cro-Marmot's cadaver remained standing for a few seconds, erupting with grisly ichor from his ruined neck, before crumpling to the ground in a bloody heap.

And subsequently after witnessing this, more than a few individuals had their auditory signature blaring. Many of the girls were crying, screaming or simply shuddering in their seats as they tried to figure out what was going on. Much as they would not liked to have admit it any other day, more than a few of the guys were doing the same as they saw the video filled with blood and gore. Disturbingly enough, there were even a few who sat silently in their desks nodding softly as if they already understood what was going on. Though most of them were looking about confusedly and letting fear take them over, this jaded minority had already put its mind into gear as to what needed to be done.

The Director meanwhile only chuckled viciously, "Hehe, good show, good show. And by the way…while you people are inured to the prospect of death, out here when you die…it's permanent."

The inconsolable tears of those who had the saline water dribbling down their faces only felt compounded by the fact they may soon wind up just like the newly (and permanently deceased) marmot. The Director couldn't be bluffing, not given the hell that they had just witnessed along with the rest of this fucktastrophe.

"Getting back to the danger zones…" stated The Director curtly, as if what had just happened, hadn't happened, "Every two hours starting at 0700 hours, a random area on the map will become a danger zone. Keep up with the announcements so that you can note down the specified zones at which times. I will also list off those who died in the previous six hours at each announcement to help you keep track of whose still out there. Some of you may be contemplating the idea of coming back to the school and wreaking havoc on it. I should warn you that such actions would be unwise. Not only because you would be outnumbered and outgunned, but also because ten minutes after the last person leaves, C-5 becomes a permanent danger zone. It will remain a danger zone until a winner has been determined."

This was all a great deal to take in all at once. But for their own sakes, the entire class was able to retain everything The Director told them.

"One last thing," he added in, "If twenty-four whole hours go by without a single death, all the necklaces will automatically detonate. No one will win the game. And no one wants that now, right?"

Naturally, no one physically responded. Most of them were just concerned with making plans to stay alive.

"In order to help you keep track of the simulation's progression, updates will be broadcasted every six hours, at 0600 hours, 1200 hours, 1800 hours, and 2400 hours. The updates will inform you of which participants have been eliminated. The announcements will also include the details of upcoming danger zones, and the players eligible for additional weapons."

Taking a pause, The Director reviewed the clipboard in his hands before looking at the class. "Are there any questions at this point?"

At once, two dozen questions, comments, and exclamations clashed into each other in mid-air. The Director rolled his eyes skyward and set his clipboard under one arm. Reaching into a pocket in his dark jacket, he pulled out a Derringer pistol and raised it to the ceiling.

With a loud "BLAM!" everyone was forced into ear-ringing silence as the man in the dark suit pocketed his pistol. The Director spoke with anger behind his words, "Control yourselves! I will not withstand this bedlam under my watch!"

Facing the deathly silence, The Director muttered, "Disgraceful."

The Director pinched the skin between his eyebrows, furrowing out the frustration and murmuring for nearly half a minute before he could compose herself. "I will allow one question from the class… Lucky Number One. Yes, that's you, Mr. Splendid, Numero Uno. You may pose a question."

Splendid had been stunned into silence, and the ringing in his ears persisted long enough that he just about missed the entirety of what The Director had said following the gunshots. Something about this seemed off, well, besides for the obvious reasons. But he felt both nauseous and deathly afraid now. Normally he would've been able to burst out of these metal restraints with his superpowers, but for some reason…he just felt too addled and sick to really be up to the task.

Nevertheless, the screen that showed his face, as well as the intensity at which The Director's steely grey eyes bored into him left him no middle ground but to respond. His mouth agape like a fish out of water, he tried to force a word from his lips, but found his throat suddenly parched.

Anxious eyes turned his way, and the camera swiveled to capture each set on the screen. A plethora of questions and thoughts all simultaneously ran through Splendid's mind, but throughout his cognizance, there was a myopic focus on his current health. He felt so gaunt and weak…what is up with this sickliness?

To his surprise, the words bubbled to the surface. "W-what's wrong with me? What…did you put in me, poison?"

The Director merely smirked evilly, "Hardly. We know of your superhero status and superpowers. I knew it would be entirely unfit to let you impede this, you could've just destroyed this entirely island or flown away and we would've been none the wiser. So we laced your collar with Kryptonut."

The words were accompanied by a venomous smile, and Splendid had a sudden urge to scream, to freak out, to do _something_ that would abscond this.

"Now, I didn't want to entirely handicap you and render you immobile or entirely defenseless. Just a minute trace was all it took to nullify any of your superpowers and leave you just as mobile and spry as the rest of your fellow competition, wouldn't want your innate abilities to throw a monkey wrench in things, huh?"

He was frustrated enough that a crushing pressure had started to build in his chest. Clenching his eyes and banging his skull into the chair's headrest, Splendid felt the discomfort subside for a bit, though the back of his neck was now hurting.

The Director scratched his head as if he was thinking. Then he stepped forward and announced, "Well, I guess that's everything… except for the 'new rule.'"

This snapped everyone back to attention. New rule? What new rule?

He noted their inquisitiveness and smirked. He stated, "I can see you are all curious to know about this new rule. I'm certain you will find it to be beneficial on your part. You see, it has to do with your superhero friend… Splendid."

Blaine was surprised to hear this. Up until this point, he had just been sitting in his chair, listening like everyone else. But now there was a new rule that made him the center of attention. What could it possibly be?

"As I said before, the main rule of a Battle Royale is that only one winner can be alive in the end," The Director remarked, "That still stands. But because this time around I'm feeling frisky and generous, there's going to be a new rule that may help change that."

There was a brief pause. Then the army commander went on: "Do you want to know what it is? If you do, listen to me very closely."

Everyone collectively leaned forward and kept their ears open. Then he told them "The new rule is this: There may actually be **two **winners this year. The traditional winner would be whoever the last one standing is. The other winner will not have to wait until the game ends. Because the other winner… is whoever kills Splendid."

Splendid felt like throwing up again. He did not turn around, but he was certain that all of his classmates' eyes were focused on him. He really wished he could just disappear into thin air at that time; the situation was getting worse and worse. Now it seemed downright hopeless for him.

"The last thing I need to discuss is what the winner receives," he went on, "In addition to life and freedom, the winner receives enough prize money to have him or her set for life. That applies to both winners; the last one standing and Splendid's… executioner. However, if it should turn out that the last two people standing are Splendid and another person… then whoever emerges victorious will receive double the normal amount of prize money. One winner; double the fee. Take **that** into consideration, if you would."

The Director looked around the room. He was no longer facing a room of frightened teens and adults. He was facing a room of tense competitors. They had all been friends just hours earlier. Now under a special set of circumstances, the strength of their friendships would be tested.

He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Now then, everything has been properly addressed. Are there any questions?"

No one raised his or her hands. Evidently, The Director had answered them all already.

"Now then," he said as he picked up the file on the desk and opened it up, "It is time to get started. "I do believe that's the last thing to be taken care of." The Director pocketed his pistol. "On a side note, I'm aware that most instructors are encouraged to eliminate at least one contestant before the game begins... but as mentioned, I'm not a fan of such a barbaric practice. Given that your collective behavior has been... tolerable, I am willing to see where each of you can go from here. Well, enough talk, let's get this Battle Royale started, shall we? As I call each of your names by randomly allocated numerical order, please make your way out of this room by the back door. Make sure to collect your packs along the way."

He adjusted the in-ear monitor that had been concealed by his black beret. "I've also been told that we're currently in somewhat of a wet season, so each of you will be provided with a pair of rubber boots and a plastic raincoat. A bit of personal advice, try to stay warm and dry while you fight to win."

With a second clicking noise, the metal restraints that had been on Splendid came undone.

"I will call out your names in order. I would advise against lingering in the hallway; there is a guard at the front entrance that informs us when each competitor has left the building. If it takes a person longer than thirty seconds to reach the entrance after leaving this room, the guard has orders to take that student out. Is that clear?"

Without even waiting for a response, he continued: "Now then, onto the roll call. Well, I believe it is only fair that the first person to leave the school should be our former superhero friend…Splendid! I wish you the best of luck…"


	2. Contestant Roster

**Author's Note: Well, this is merely an update of sorts just to sort of make aware of what's going on. I have put all 33 of the Tree Friends that I have thus far and have alphabetized them before entering in their names into a randomizer (with the sole exception of Splendid), as to eliminate any predilection's of mine from seeping through, so if your OC is not exactly in the spot you would prefer, then I do apologize. Nothing really within my control. **

**Personally, I still would like to convey my gratitude to everyone who has submitted OC's thus far, as well as all the reviewers or really anyone who has even given this "story" the time of day. You all have been really helpful, especially considering with only just the main cast of HTF to work with, this story wouldn't be nearly as fun to write. I really like all of your characters, and furthermore admire the fact you willfully submit your OC's knowing full well they may die a grisly death. Kudos.**

**Well, I believe that is all that needs to be said. So until next update my pretties, kiss-kiss and review, sincerely,**

**-8bitmatter**

* * *

**Happy Tree Royale Roster **

**1. **Splendid

**2. **Josie (JosiePink64)

**3. **Disco Bear

**4.** Bulk (lala-spider)

**5. **Mime

**6. **Cub

**7. **Cinnamon (Story telling-talent fairy)

**8. **Toothy

**9. **Boony (boony832)

**10. **Handy

**11. **Shifty

**12. **Flaky

**13. **Dan (DeathPrincess821)

**14. **Lifty

**15. **Tuffy (Carlos45)

**16. **Cuddles

**17. **Petunia

**18. **Flippy

**19. **Nutty

**20. **Pop

**21. **Speedia (lala-spider)

**22. **Fang (boony832)

**23. **Mole

**24. **Mark (Mark Shepherd)

**25. **Jozie (JosiePink64)

**26. **Lumpy

**27. **Russell

**28. **Misty (Story telling-talent fairy)

**29. **Truffles

**30. **Coral (maxwhittemore)

**31. **Sniffles

**32. **Pepper (EmoMason22)

**33. **Giggles

**34. **Blaze (thebloodmassacre)

**35. **Angel (PLAINAWESOME)

**36. **Lammy


	3. Out of the Pan

**Author's Note: Hello there. Sorry for taking so long to get this out, school started again for me on August 15th and Gnawed into my freetime to write. So yeah, I apologize. Also, while I would like to thank everyone who submitted/donated their OC's for me to utilize; i would like to extend a special note of gratitude towards lala-spider, EmoMason22, and Story telling-talent fairy for helping fill in the three free spots with their OC's. I apologize to anyone else who submitted but there's did not make it in the final allotment, that's just how the cookie crumbles I suppose. **

**Now that school's in session, I will now most likely update every 7-10 days give or take, I'll at least try to post every other week at very latest, but no guarantee to that commitment.**

**Well, anyways, here is the next chapter of Happy Tree Royale, and if there are any mistakes or discrepancies or even grievances that any of you have that I can rectify please let me know in the form of a PM or a review. Thank you, until next update, onto the feature presentation.**

* * *

Shaking himself back into reality, the disheveled flying squirrel known as Splendid (Contestant #1) was only vaguely aware of the fact that the manacles restraining his legs and wrists had been released. He idly stood up, a detached sort of mien in his brain as his body more or less went on autopilot.

Truth be told, he still couldn't believe this was happening. It all felt so surreal, this nausea, this discomfort and impending sense of dread. Was this real or was this fantasy. He'd known what he had seen and heard, no doubt. But in some detached part of his brain he wasn't quite sure if what he'd seen had been real or if it were some vivid, intangible out of body experience.

As he dumbly stood around, looking ornery back at the other thirty-five faces whose faces burrowed through him like an excavator. All of their countenances each conveyed a message, some implored with fear, anger, hope, disgust, some even had on an air of total apathy (even if for some it was a mask for pure, unadulterated terror).

Splendid could feel all of the attention on himself yet again. As soon as he stepped through that door, the Program would start, where he would most likely be murdered in a display of cruel irony by one of the Tree Friends he likely saved in an impending disaster at one point or another. But if he stayed behind, he would be signing his own death warrant anyway, given his neck jewelry would activate and blow his head to kingdom come.

One of the soldiers at the Bellman cart had picked the bag with the number one stitched at the top. As Splendid approached the door, not even considering to give any parting diatribe or attack the soldiers or The Director (what good would that do, without his super abilities he was about as mortal as The Mole in a construction site). The soldier then tossed him the bag. The cyan squirrel caught it swiftly in both of his arms. Another soldier opened up the door and gestured for him to go out.

Just before leaving, Splendid turned to get a good look at his neighbors. This would be the last time he would see all thirty-five of them in the same place. He treasured this moment, they were practically family dammit, sure they weren't perfect, but they still had their moments of brilliance and rectitude. This almost brought a tear to his eye.

He spent a long moment concentrating on Toothy (Contestant #8) and Cinnamon (Contestant #7). His admirer was in tears, a visage of unadulterated panic and dread plastered all over his face. Yet in spite of that, the one mitigation was seeing Splendid. With a small, mawkish smile, all Toothy could manage to do in terms of support was give him a half-hearted thumbs-up and his girlfriend could only mouth the words "I love you."

Splendid returned the thumbs-up to Toothy and mouthed "I love you, too" back to Cinnamon. Then he turned around and bounded out into the bright white hallway, disappearing from view into the blinding halogen light.

* * *

As the door slid shut behind him, he took a few seconds to take in his surroundings and ruminate. He was in a corridor, maybe thirty yards long give or take. Looking around, he could see a transparent series of paper windows to the right of him, and typical prosaic glass ones to the left, the corridor seemed to stretch out interminably either way.

There were a few more soldiers standing guard just outside of it. Their black riot gear staunchly contrasting the snow-white light around him, it was harsh at first. But after a few seconds, his eyes adjusted and the jarring subsided to a fairly pleasant level.

Splendid now had his bearings and was about to step to the left when one of the soldiers blocked his path. The soldier pointed in the other direction. As much as Splendid wanted to pounce on this asshole, he knew that it would most likely just result in his inexorable demise. Instead, Splendid physically nodded in acknowledgement, turned around, and walked at a quick pace down the hall.

He thought about checking his bag as he walked. Then he decided that it might be better to wait until he was clear of the school. Then he would be out of harm's way. At the very least he would be out of it temporarily.

With a resigned inhale of cool oxygen, Splendid knew it would be ill-advised to wait here for too long, especially considering whom came after him as number two. Ironically it would've been someone he normally would have no problem dealing with, considering that she was mostly just a fairly innocuous troublemaker and sometimes petty thief, but out here…and given his indigent condition, he had to really think twice about things.

That's really unfortunate too, as much as he knew he could explicitly trust Toothy and Cinnamon of all people to not hunt for his head, considering that Josie (Contestant #2), Disco Bear (Contestant #3) and Bulk (Contestant #4) were the next three people to leave after him, he had not even one iota of doubt that none of them wouldn't kill him to save their own skins. Bulk and Josie especially, therefore it wasn't too prudent an idea to stay and wait around for anyone. Shit, it may have been a veritable death sentence to wait around where any of those three could find him, and like The Director had said, had he been assigned a knife to their shotgun, he was as dead as Elvis.

His body had moved on autopilot for quite some duration as Splendid allowed his mind to wander, so it wasn't until the cold air and the rain that stung his cheeks and the utter abating of the stark-white lights did Splendid realize he had reached the corridor's end.

When he finally exited the school, Splendid found himself in an overgrown field. In the middle of a hundred yard square of grasslands that was encroached in by the dense jungle. Some trees that seemed to loom over him were choked and bridled with the green vines and leaves that walled the pasture, while various other various overgrown pieces of foliage and plant life seemed to make itself evident in a multitude of spots within the floral hodgepodge. It was however nothing but darkness just beyond the radius of the spotlights, and that chilled Splendid to the core for some cryptic reason.

The spotlight also illuminated the rain droplets that poured onto the former-superhero's skin with an unusual tenacity individually and gave the precipitous spectacle the illusion of appearing like a plethora of tiny crystals were raining down from the sky, of course the sound of the rain as it zipped from the clouds down to the grass at what seemed like sub-sonic speeds in a surprisingly delightful manner was a nice touch. Seemingly his ailments had whisked themselves down with the rain as sickness dwindled. Wanting to see if anything happened, he tried utilizing his heat vision…with no efficacy. Testing out his freeze breath…much of the same, well, aside from a sudden parching in his throat. Ugh. _Goddamn Kryptonut. _

Splendid cursed under his breath as he tried to levitate and take off in flight, only take make it less than three feet off the ground before being earthbound.

"Fuck!"

Venting out some frustration by kicking at the ground, Splendid was genuinely intrigued how they knew his weakness, or managed to accrue it for that matter. There was such a paucity of the jade extraterrestrial substance that you'd likely have an easier time locating Atlantis than a substantive quantity of the stuff. How did they test and measure the proper amount to render him powerless, but still sapient and kicking? Did they have enough in reserve to afford to carelessly experiment with it? And if so, how much was on this god-forsaken rock?

And for the love of god how did they experiment with it on him? Did they have a prerequisite of how much was fatal and how much was merely crippling? Or was it just enough to be benign in terms of his body functions, yet enough to nullify his superpowers?

About a thousand and one thoughts pertaining to the topic of this insidious mineral clashed with one another within Splendid's cognition, but he deluged them all with a few shakes of his head to bring himself back into the bigger picture. He'd hopefully have plenty of time to ruminate on this later as soon as he was a safe distance away from everyone else.

The masked squirrel sighed exasperatedly as he took a lackadaisical look towards the night skyline, using a free hand as a visor to help shield his eyes from the torrential rain that poured down like helter-skelter, he caught sight of a few homes and other structures that polluted his view with their unnatural presence. The island seemed to be very expensive to live on; rich homes glared down at him from the forest trees and he could hear the sound of waves hitting the shoreline just behind the school. It was probably populated by elderly and retired couples; _what exactly had happened to them_ anyway?

With another dejected exhale, Splendid jogged slightly into the bushes and tore open the zipper of his backpack. Inside, like The Director had said, he found a waterproof poncho and a pair of rain boots immediately atop his other provisions, which he quickly donned.

He also found two Poland Springs bottle of water, two greasy-looking bread roll, a map of the island, and a cheap disposable flashlight. But most important of all, something metallic and L shaped made itself apparent with the moonlight gleaming on it. Retrieving the tool, it was immediately identified as a pistol by Splendid (an FN Five-Seven to be precise).

On one hand, now that he had a viable means of protection, that gave the superhero a quantum of solace and reimbursed his hopes of survival within this insanity. But on the other, he couldn't help but let out a wry chuckle of irony, just musing at the thought.

Back in Happy Tree Town, he was often the one to stop and quell villains and delinquents (or Lumpy when he was on the police force) armed with these exact kinds of tools of violence, these weapons of mass destruction. And now that he was faced against some of those people, armed with _their _weaponry, yet without superpowers. If the universe had a sense of humor, he was sure some of it came into influencing his spot in the game.

Beating away the thoughts, he sprinted off around the bunker; pistol tucked into the holster it came with in the waistline of his pants. His concerns directed at his immediate future being his main priority. Confused and more than a bit fearful, he hoped for the best as the wilderness and Cliffside homes he was once faced with panned out of view.

* * *

"Lucky Number Seven, Cinnamon, you're live." The Director practically squealed as the manacles on the aforementioned bear's plush chair came undone.

As Cinnamon (Contestant #7) sat up curtly from her seat, nursing her sore, oppressed wrists, she kept mentally reassessing what had happened.

Truth be told, she was ready to leave already. A growing sense of resolve was building up inside of her with a particular fervor that brought a bitter twitch to her lips, given that two of the people she cared about more than anything else was already outside before her. While it was questionable the first one released was feasible to find so easily given that fourteen minutes had elapsed since his departure, but the other one, her cousin Cub (Contestant #6), it was almost guaranteed that he was waiting for her on the other side.

How auspicious for both him and her that they were sequential on the contestant roster. That was a benediction that made her silently thank the gods that she didn't believe in until now.

She had witnessed the routine of release vicariously, and aside from the first person out and the most recent, there wasn't a single clue of muss or fuss from any of the others. Josie, Disco Bear, Bulk, and Mime all were unshackled and left with varying degree's of hesitance, even if their chosen countenances were somewhat apathetic, it was more than likely that it was all just a guise for pure, unadulterated fear.

Splendid had responded in kind to her implored words from earlier with another tacit 'I love you' of his own, while Cub left in inconsolable tears and was shaking so bad, he could barely stand on his own two feet. The toddler practically had to be shuffled out by the armed personnel, even his backpack that was a considerable amount of sizes too large for him was thrown out by him once he was escorted out by the soldiers.

And she could only helplessly watch, stifling some tears and the urge to go into a conniption. Until now finally her turn had arisen.

She stood around dumbly for just a few brief moments, just assuring herself that this was real and not just some fucked up fantasy. Letting her eyes torpidly drift over the panorama view of the twenty-nine other pair's of eyes on her, tears had welled in a good majority of the people still restrained and in all honesty made her wonder why she wasn't among the bandwagon of everyone who let out waterworks and whimpering.

_Maybe my eyes are still in denial of sorts, and that's why they can't produce tears. Or maybe my body has already accepted impending deat- No. No, okay, I'm not dying here…whatever you gotta do to survive this, you gotta do it out there. Find Cub, find Splendid, wait for Pop, and everything will be just fine…_

Amidst the maudlin and palpable despair, the main face that caught her attention was her uncle Pop's (Contestant #20), his steely eyes urging with half-desperation and half-sympathy to get her ass in gear.

Getting the hint, the tomboy nodded affirmatively before swishing her crimson bangs to the side with a lax swipe of the hand before turning around in an insouciant jog to the side door.

Roughly catching her drab olive backpack, she turned to face the nearest offhand camera.

"Fuck you," she said simply, "I hope you all just fucking rot and die."

Alas, she made no further scene as she disappeared out the pneumatic sliding door, away from the still captive players and into the game.

In fact, in spite of a group of people who were part of a generation known for its defiance, the overwhelming majority of them had departed with varying increments of apathy. Some such as Toothy (Contestant #8) and Dan (Contestant #13) had merely left with their heads bowed down as if they were taking a vow of silence, not even bothering to register the faces of everyone around them. Others like Flaky (Contestant #12) and Tuffy (Contestant #15) had departed looking as terrified as Cub.

Yet a few exceptions to this rule of indifference were twin raccoon brothers Shifty (Contestant #11) and Lifty (Contestant #14) who left with such cockiness it likely should have counted as automatic disqualification, of course knowing them, it may have just been a subterfuge.

As the game progressed, those who found themselves further down the list who had the presence of mind around them to do some thinking already set about making their plans. Cuddles (Contestant #16), was already setting about whispering to his friends about setting up a potential meet and greet just outside the bunker. With one of their crew already out and waiting in the bushes, it would only be a matter of time before they were all reunited...

* * *

Speaking of which, Cuddles heard his name enumerated shortly after Tuffy's.

"Cuddles, Number Sixteen, it's your turn."

Cuddles blinked nonplussed. He had been anticipating this moment for such a long time, that when his reprieve finally came, it came as something of a shock to his system. He was still sitting down and had hardly moved a muscle since his name had been called.

"Mr. Cuddles, I believe my voice was loud enough for your oversized bunny ears to hear. Do you need a bit of persuasion to stand up and get your respective items?"

The Director then signaled one of the army subordinates to point his sidearm at his head.

With that stimulus, Cuddles eyes widened as he was quickly spurred from his seat and onto his feet in quick succession; feeling the soft cushioning of his fluffy pink bunny slippers that his friends didn't seem to hesitate in using it as ammunition for ridicule in the past. Of course now they weren't fucking laughing, none of them were. _Shit…it's raining out there, gonna wanna change into rain boots, provided those pigs ain't lying about 'em._

Looking back to face the despaired expression of his fiancé Giggles (Contestant #33), her eyes shimmering with empathy and anguish, it couldn't help but bring a despondent rictus to his face. As much as he wanted to kick and scream, as much as he wanted to protest and stick it to these assholes in charge, he still wanted to live.

_Hopefully she'll have the sense about her to come out and look for us._

Letting his eyes wander away from his distraught girlfriend, his vision drifted towards his girl's best friend and his own seatmate Petunia (Contestant #17). He had already briefed her extensively about a rendezvous outside considering she was in the seat just to his right and was an easily reachable ally of his. So if all else fails, he could almost certainly count on her company, that gave the butter-colored rabbit a modicum of consolation…

…Among other things. He couldn't quite tangibly explain it, but he felt incredibly surreal looking at Petunia in such an unwittingly picturesque state. With her healthy, long cerulean hair with cyan streaks that draped down to her mid-back like a luscious waterfall of keratin neatly cropped together and adorned by the pink flower ornament. That curtaining her innately sanguineous, perfectly symmetric face with utter pulchritude. Not to mention her voluptuous figure working in tandem with her generous sized buxom…what was making him think this lustfully at his best friend's girlfriend?

Was it how innocuous and dazzling her petrified doe eyes seemed, and how vulnerably gorgeous girls were one of his fantasies that he preferred to keep under the sheets? Or maybe it was how impending death was a real contingency at this point…and admittedly, he had always tacitly thought that Petunia was physically far more stunning then Giggles. Maybe it was the way her shapely legs were accentuated in such an arousing manner by those trainer shorts that only met her thighs at the halfway mark. Further made further erotic by the fact her legs were spread apart by the cufflinks on her chair.

No way could what he was feeling right now be normal. He should be frightened out of his wits; or trying to formulate a plan on staying alive, yet here he was, freezing up and perving on a girl by all means he really, _really _shouldn't be.

And it must've been so perspicuous that even the attractive skunk girl veered her head away ever so slightly, averting her gaze as her eyes suddenly became intrigued on what was on the linoleum floor.

He still stood lost like a misplaced puppy until an impetus for him to haul ass was provided by his girlfriend, "What're you waiting for, get the fuck out of here!"

And with that he dispelled his libidinous thoughts away and turned away to face the Bellman cart. _Jesus Cuddles, what was that? Were you seriously just thinking those thoughts right now? What the fuck is wrong with you? God, that must've been the sinful equivalent of blasphemy…well, I guess you're fucked anyways if that's the case. Death by God, or death by thirty-five incognitos that you've known for most of your life. Man…just what the actual fuck._

He roughly caught the surprisingly heavy supply pack as it was tossed at him, emanating an emphatic "_OOF_" as he was braced against the impact.

"Mr. Cuddles, you now have one minute." The Director robotically spoke to him in his patented military stance, "Best get a move on."

Cuddles nodded sheepishly, candidly speaking he couldn't agree more. Fixing the straps of his backpack on his shoulders and mounting the pack on his back, he made a beeline towards the door and out into the game.

With the hallway seeming longer with every step, the boy continued on, doing his best to outright sprint and ignoring the fact that he was woefully out of shape. The end of some long device, probably his weapon, banged against the back of his neck and began to hurt with every step, but just trying to get out before the next person was released, he was more than willing to ignore the ache. At the end of the hall there was a rectangle of white light. _The exit, almost there..._

* * *

Petunia on the other hand was quite confused at what that whole display was about with Cuddles…was he…ogling her?

_Nahh, he's with Giggles. He couldn't have been leering at me…right?_ That's what she had been telling herself for the past two minutes after Cuddles' leaving. Maybe he was distracted by something else, or perhaps he was staring at her for pragmatic, entirely non-sexual reasons.

She didn't have much more time to reflect over the matter as an emphatic clicking noise made itself apparent as her appendages were now free to move about.

"Number Seventeen, Petunia, make us proud."

_Same old routine as always. Ugh, it's getting so irritating. He's such a revolting little trollup, isn't he?_

Despite her mental refute, the hygiene conscious skunk made no inkling of rumple or protest as she calmly and collectedly went up and got her bag and turned away to make for the front door. On her way out, she flashed the tiniest of peace signs before dashing out to meet Cuddles and Toothy.

No fanfare, no conniption of any kind. Merely the bare requirements ordained by the powers that be in order to circumvent having one's head separated from their neck just like the late, arguably great, Cro-Marmot.

The blinding pillar of light began to take the form of a giant white blob as the light began to reflect off of the plastic riot shields of the soldiers that sat on both sides of the corridor. Eventually the gauntlet of armored men passed by like a blur as she made her way out into the rainy jungle.

This nature was something entirely different to her previous world, the trees, leaves, wind and wet weather giving her the illusion of being under a shower…that was outdoors. She liked showers.

Feeling the precipitation cool off her skin and provide her with an unexpected refurbishment, she took the briskness in stride for nary a moment before she heard a beckoning off to her side.

"Petunia, over here!" a masculine voice to her left called out.

Being shaken out of her thoughts, Petunia snapped her head over to the side and was faced with one of the friendliest faces she could possibly imagine given the circumstances. Hiding off in a patch of bushes near the base of an aged falling tree was none other than Cuddles. Following in tow was Toothy, a.k.a. Contestant #8, a.k.a. her boyfriend.

With things as bad as they were, the slightest bit of normality and community was a more than welcoming proposition. _Surrounded by your best friends, could be worse, right?_

Making a beeline for the bushes, there was minimal dialogue between the trio of teens aside from the cursory "Hello" and traditional greetings. Petunia gave a quick peck on the lips to Toothy, but aside from that no other further physical signs of limerence. They mainly spent their time in anxious anticipation awaiting the arrival of their final proponent; that being Giggles.

As they silently kept out an eye over the edge of a rotting log. Plenty of their fellow competitors came to pass, Flippy (Contestant #18) and Nutty (Contestant #19) were the next two to show up after Petunia. And given the history and questionable sanity of both players, neither were the kind of character Cuddles, Toothy, or Petunia wanted to contend with.

"So…what do you suppose we should do once Giggles comes out?" Toothy inquired timidly as he adjusted his spot in the bushel.

"We're gonna, we're all gonna head off to find a safe building together once she's out, maybe if we just keep ourselves together and in one place we'll be able to think this out a lot better."

"Ok, sounds like a decent idea." Toothy replied.

As the night elapsed, they caught sight of many things that could be deemed intriguing. Such as Speedia (Contestant #21) doing that animalistic bounding of his on the three of his working appendages like some sort of deformed dog…well, he was a Dalmatian, and his left arm was merely a stump raggedly sewn shut just below the elbow. Whatever his story explaining the handicap was, it was still creepy as hell to watch as his backpack buckled with every resolved lunge. He moved so fast though that before anyone could really comprehend the feral visage he bore as he sped away, he was already a blur in the green foliage as the heavy undergrowth only served to further obscure him from view before disappearing into the night.

A few more minutes later, after Fang (Contestant #22) had ambled out of the bunker, Mole (Contestant #23) was the next one up to bat. Watching him bumble about with that walking stick of his and his struggling to keep control of his backpack from slumping off of his shoulders. Petunia's eyes gleamed with sympathy as she witnessed the blind mammal maladroitly stumble around.

"S-should we do something, to help him?" Petunia said.

"No, I'm not sure if we could trust him, plus…he'd be a liability. I think he should fend for himself." Cuddles explained, he felt bad for having to admit that. But being ever the pragmatic if life was on the line, no way could they afford such charity out here. Folks like Mole were tragically DOA and expendable, and no way could he jeopardize himself and his friends by taking him on.

"But he's still a person, and we're still people…we can't just let him fend off out there and die. He's blind for Christ's sake!" Petunia urged with vehemence.

"Ugh. Fine, what do you think Toothy?" Cuddles implored with an iota of irritation.

Toothy hesitated for just a brief moment before answering, stifling a fake cough, "Well, I guess I can really go either way mate. I guess we should bring him along, more the merrier, right?"

"Excellent, that's two to one!" Petunia victoriously exclaimed.

Hardly giving a chance for either boy to respond, Petunia took Toothy's half-hearted answer as enough of a consensus to take action.

Leaping over the decaying lumber into the illuminated pasture, doing her best to avoid sullying herself with dirt and grime, she made a beeline straight for the vision-bereft mole.

Though the mole was blind, he could sense and hear the sounds of someone rushing at him in spite of the shrouding nature of the torrential rain; his ears piquing up in anticipation, the mezzo-forte thumps and sloshes that increased in tempo and volume caused him to tense up and fortify whatever defense he may have had. What he had was raising his walking stick in a protective manner in the direction of the footsteps as the approached him.

Though it would be of no need as he heard a silky feminine voice that was enough to assure him all was well.

"Don't worry, it's me, Petunia." She urged, "You have nothing to worry about…but it's too early to be a sitting duck, come on!"

Feeling some warmth and pressure being applied on his hand, followed by the sensation of a force pulling him along to the left, his feet stumbling about haphazardly as they just barely managed to keep hold of their balance, he could only surmise he was being pulled off somewhere by the skunk girl. Why, he had yet to know.

Well…he knew Petunia was generally a very friendly young woman, aside for her occasional bout of OCD. Charitable and typically wouldn't hurt a fly unless it landed on her. Or had the temerity to tarnish a normally impeccable object of hers she devoutly had cleansed next to godliness.

That said, he could only hope she had good intentions. Given her grip was a lot stronger than he could recall, and he had no expediently available source of weaponry or defense considering he had yet to open his supply pack.

When she finally did relinquish her grasp on him, he was tempted to try and flee until he heard her speak again, "Mole, get down, someone's coming!"

Then before he even had the opportunity to react on his own accord, he was brought down to the grassy knoll nose first.

"You shouldn't have done that Petunia." Mole could hear a harsh voice sternly whisper into her, as far as he could tell, it was Cuddles. "Damn, my slippers are getting soaked, fuck. Shoulda' put on those freakin' rain boots first."

The already black world of Mole's now had a slight puddle of water that partially enveloped his face in addition to Cuddles' whining. _Great, what is this? Shouldn't I just be on my lonesome and die in peace?_

"Well, we couldn't just leave him." Petunia refuted.

"What, you want to take him with us?" Cuddles asked incredulously, "If he slows us down too much, we'll all die! Especially with all the psychotic motherfuckers running around here."

Mole could hear them arguing and talking back and forth, but it didn't matter all that much. He could already gather the reason why they took him in, they figured he was better off as part of their vigilante group of survivors versus a lone competitor…and they were likely right.

Safety in numbers. Yeah, it was the lone individuals such as him that made the easy prey. Groups had more food, camaraderie and supplies and weapons. It was the groups that were less likely to starve or get picked off by any lone hunter. It was honestly simple math, though he knew there was also ramifications to being part of a gang like this. Paranoia that one of them might stab them in the back later down the line, more people to keep track of, all sorts of consequences.

"He's staying with us and that's final!" Petunia said with a note of finality.

"Ugh, fine, let's just see what Giggles has to say."

Though, as Mole began to assess the situation and really ponder over this vicissitude, he began to realize that this was quite the benediction. _Giggles huh? It was a really lovely date we had. Even if I didn't get lucky, ah well…she got Cuddles and I had a good time so I guess it all worked out._

Well…perhaps it was too early to make a call, but despite his initial crankiness and apprehension, in the long term, Mole figured that something good had just happened to him; further assured by the pleasant scent of the lovely girl just beside him.

* * *

Mark (Contestant #24) by all rights should have been a force to be reckoned with within the confines of the Battle Royale. Being six and a half feet tall (As tall as Lumpy, a.k.a. Contestant #26) and boasting a lean, yet stalwart frame of mostly muscle. He shouldn't have been shaking in his very boots in terror, right?

Wrong. Despite his innate height advantage over the competition (Bar Lumpy) and accrued survival skills he procured over his ten plus years in the USAF, he wasn't sure if he could really fight in this game.

A devout Catholic, he believed in the value of human life above all else. True, he had no qualms about self defense, but believed that violence should be the last step in any given action. If it must come to violence, make sure that all other options have been exhausted. But even so, although he had reservations about fighting and generally had a proclivity to avoid conflict as much as conceivably possible, it wasn't typically the pain that swayed him away. Not really at least, it was actually the blood that really scared Mark. He could handle it in movies, on TV even, but in person... It was enough to both nauseate and scare the everlasting hell out of the chipmunk. _Wow, aren't you in the wrong game boy-o._

Looking over to the adjacent seat, he could see his neighbor Jozie (Contestant #25) was bawling her eyes out, likely from worry over her twin sister. The concern was contagious, for now Mark could empathize and probably was feeling…maybe half of the unmitigated depression that she must have been feeling. There were just too many, too many who wouldn't be able to make it on their own, and for them Mark was most afraid.

As the numbers within the room began to dwindle, he could only think back to what the fighting had been like. He did not want to, but for the preservation of his own life or for those who could not protect themselves, it may be more than necessary. Seeing those like Bulk (Contestant #4), Shifty (Contestant #11), and Lifty (Contestant #14), go on out, he knew that there would be more than a few opportunists out there. _Those guys are going to make it forever in this thing if they go by the rules._

Seeing the sisters caught within this game took Mark particularly hard. This wasn't a bunch of strangers caught within the game, this wasn't just some random people set about to kill each other namelessly like insurgents and troops in some foreign nation. These were people who grew up together, people who had known each other for decades, some who loved, and some... family. Seeing Jozie, normally ever the sterner of the twins in such an advanced state of bereave almost made Mark want to cry as well, but as it was Mark still had faith in them. Those girls... they were tough.

The couples on the other hand, they might not have done too well for themselves as he mused. Once Mole had departed, Mark had begun to tap his feet faster in anticipation, likely his body's way of venting out some nervous energy. _Things are getting tight here, already almost two-thirds of everyone is out there._

At this point, the sound of liquid flowing rapidly followed by a foul stench caught Mark's attention. Craning his neck around to the stink of urine, he realized that Truffles (Contestant #29) had wet his pants. _Maybe he's the smart one, he let the fear get to him._

It was then and there where Mark heard his name loud and clear.

"Number Twenty-Four, Mark, come on down."

As soon as the manacles came undone, the former pilot cracked his knuckles to see if they still worked, which yielded a hearty symphony of cracks to his relief. Before departing he had one last thing to say.

"Jozie, we don't know each other all that well, and you might be as much out there to kill me as anybody else, but I still wish you and your sister the best…take care."

"Thanks," she replied with a tear, "you too…"

Looking past the austere albino to the hoodlum squirrel sitting just one row behind, Mark couldn't help but feel unnerved by the cocky grin of the crimson girl known as Pepper (Contestant #32)_. _There was something definitely predatory, something... more than a little scary in that girl's eyes. _Come on man, just get out of here, don't worry, just do it._

Tapping the doorframe on his way out, Mark too disappeared into an unknown fate.

* * *

As each person left the room, Lammy (Contestant #36), felt more and more nervous. The more time passed, the sooner death would be upon them. For all she knew, the first person out had simply picked everyone off one at a time with their weapon, maybe just stood up on the roof with a sniper rifle or crossbow or something and just took them out one by one. _Splendid was the first one out though, he wouldn't do that. Then again, most of the first ones gone aren't bad people..._

Lammy figured Josie was a decent person, usually the more effervescent and friendly one between her and her sister. Disco Bear, while a pervert the majority of the time, at heart wasn't a bad guy and Lammy knew he had the capability to do be a very nice guy. As for Bulk, while there was no doubt he was a problem child, the purple lamb figured that there is an inner side to him that he just didn't show easily.

All things considered, the girl doubted her chances for survival immensely. The girl knew she was last considering the pecking order of chairs and that the persons next to her seatmate was most recently released. Odds were that being the last person out made the odds of her death being sooner rather than later were greater than ever.

Before she really even knew what was going on, Coral (Contestant #30) and Sniffles (Contestant #31) disappeared consecutively down the miracle mile of white with their backpacks. Well, at least in Sniffles case was it actually expedient. Coral had to be carted out in a wheelchair with the assistance of one of the soldiers. _Well, at least they have an inkling of decency…helping the disabled._

"YEAH MAN, I GOT THIS ONE!" Pepper cried out enthusiastically as her number was called. The hoodlum and all around bitch walked towards the door with a confident stride, jumping up and tapping the top of the door frame enthusiastically as she practically dashed down the hall.

The quadruplet of contestants still stationary within the classroom emitted a medley of obscenities and other noises of fear, anguish, and frustration at being in the very last echelon of contenders still confined to their seats.

With Pepper gone, the ditzy pink chipmunk known as Giggles (Contestant #33) and the steely wolf Blaze (Contestant #34) were soon to follow. Now with all but two of Happy Tree Town's former residents out roaming Mondo's Island, Lammy couldn't help but eye her seatmate Angel (Contestant #35) in curiosity.

"Fucking fuck, please let me out of here!" She heard him shout out angrily as he tried fighting his restraints.

Sighing sympathetically, she tried giving a piece of advice to the agitated raccoon, "Listen Angel, I know you don't like me…but I'm afraid swearing and fighting isn't going to do you much good in here, at least not more than it already has."

To which his response was to contort his neck, conveying a physiognomy at the girl that expressed nothing but frustration and aggression. Lammy figured if he had the opportunity, Angel would likely try to punch her right now.

"Who asked you?"

"Well…nobody I guess, I'm just saying under these circumstances your struggles are really fruitless and bears no meaning in the grand scheme…if anything it would probably be best not to overexert yourself before your death sentence." Lammy explained with aplomb that even she didn't think she possessed.

Looking into his gray eyes, she saw them glaze over in comprehension, his eyeballs almost serving as a portal into his mind as they indicated an idea forming in his brain, then what he figured would be an appropriate response. He piped down for a little while before stating,

"Whatever…it's just we're all going to die," he said in a voice still marred with anguish, "and I'm still quite pissed and scared of this…okay…I think you're a bitch. But…I guess you're right here; fuck."

"Well I guess it's a bit of a foregone conclusion." Lammy said in her still quite calm voice, she could sense on Angel's end that he was doing his very best to keep his composure, to which she could sympathize with him. Truth be told Lammy couldn't even fathom why she was being amiable to the emo raccoon, they were mutual enemies and by all means should be out for each other's heads out here; out to settle a score. But Lammy couldn't find anything in her to want to do that…she may not like Angel, but enough to want to kill him? Hardly.

"I'd say yeah, it is," Angel replied as he calmed down, at least giving the person he personally detested the time of day.

"I just hope that when I go, it's quick," Lammy said quickly and simply, "I don't want this to be bad. I hold no illusions that it won't be, this is going to be quite bad I think, but I can still hold out some hope for humanity I guess."

"Good luck to you on that one," he responded sarcastically.

"Next up, Number 35, Angel!"

As his hands became unshackled, Angel rubbed his wrists idly while looking around the room with a certain level of fear. Despite it all though, a degree of anger also appeared to build within him. He turned to face Lammy and give eye contact.

"Good luck," he said with as much honesty as he could muster, sprinting towards the exit and disappearing like a ghost. Just as quickly, Lammy found herself feeling very lonely. _Last one standing girl, you're the last one in this room, it's not all that bad, sure, someone might be out there, a hunter, anything, just watch out, just, keep it cool, keep it safe, you know what you're doing, you know what's going to happen, just think this one out coolly, calmly, and the situation will resolve itself. It won't be easy, but it will resolve itself..._

Squawking to life one last time, The Director read off the clipboard one last time, "All right, that leaves you, Number 36, Lammy as the last one out. I know you may think you're out of luck, but, well, maybe you are. Have a nice day!"

_Well fuck you then._

With her hands now free and her fate as the last contestant released from the bus uncertain, Lammy could now Wipe a tear from her eye, and try to relish her last moments of guaranteed safety. _Guaranteed safety, yeah, right._

Starting off in a soft jog towards the bright white light that was the exit, backpack in hand, only two words could escape her mouth.

"Well _shit._"

Had most known of the sheer level of horrifying depravity and turpitude that was to follow, more than a few would have probably chosen to end their lives then and there within the room to spare themselves the suffering. Instead, they all began to take their part in the deadliest game any of them had ever known.


	4. Into the Fire

**Author's Note: Sorry it took so long to write this, just the school year has started and in general other commitments and my procrastination has delayed the completion of this chapter for this amount of time. Anyways here's the latest chapter of Happy Tree Royale, next chapter won't nearly be this damn long. Constructive criticism and feedback is well-appreciated, and it was quite a lot of fun to write this. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did, thanks :). Who do you think will be the first to die? Please give me your opinions in the reviews. **

**And don't worry, all of the OC's and characters will get their time in the limelight, despite the fact only select few have been featured so far. To all those concerned anyways.**

**Anyways, onto the feature presentation! **

* * *

It all had started with a few simple chills…not due to the low temperature or intrinsically cold temperament of the torrential rain that served as soundtrack for him, it wasn't even the nervousness and terror of being drafted for this deathmatch (though both of these things certainly exacerbated it).

No, no, these chills were sadly all too familiar. They had a distinctly jittery and almost metallic quality to it. No joke, it veritably felt like metal was flowing through his veins when the withdrawal swept down upon his person. It fucking sucked.

They always seemed to sprout up in the least apt of times, typically when it had been too long since he's had his latest fix and he was in the middle of something…perhaps not important, life-endangering yes, but given where he came from…there was no such thing as death.

But now that that wasn't the case, he was obviously more terrified than ever as he adjusted himself within his fetal position on the floor of the random house he happened to stumble upon.

These chills were his body's way of notifying him that it was time to refuel, or else he was going to crash. And oh boy was that not good, if anything, it was probably the worst thing that could possibly happen given the happenstance.

Provided that imminent doom was upon him and quite possibly staring at him directly in the face, his best strategy he figured was to breathe in…and breathe out…

Nutty (Contestant #19) rolled around once more, trying his best to lull himself into a state of slumber, or at least idle relaxation. The whole inhale and exhale thing (or "square breathing" as some folks labeled it) wasn't a viable alternative to his drug of choice that he was so dreadfully deprived of right now.

Turning on his side as he clutched his stomach as if he were a starving Somalian, his face pressed against the cold linoleum floor of the kitchen of the random cabin he was in. The floor was surprisingly brisk against his fur, though the plastic matting of the poncho hood he never bothered to remove addled this effect ever so much. Despite the added layer of clothing donned upon the squirrel, he shivered with the next cascade of body chills.

Maybe it was the rain, despite the supposedly waterproof poncho enveloping him, a gratuitous amount of waterfall had still gotten underneath. Drenching his fur and sapping his skin cold, along with draining a good amount of his warmth and strength. Life just perpetually sucked, but it could be worse…it could be rai-well, it could be snowing.

As soon as Nutty had been released, things were mostly a blur. He ran east as fast as he could without a care for his surroundings, all his mind cared about was a new score. Then perchance he stumbled upon this homely wooden cabin the middle of god-fucking-knows where (Zone C-7) and decided this would suffice as his sanctuary as his abstinence from narcotics began in full swing.

The cabin itself was not derelict, and from the point of view of a casual tourist it might actually be a decent place to live. Of course, given that Nutty was in much of a vacationing mood, he wasn't exceptionally impressed by the well-stocked bedrooms, toilets, and open kitchen. He did find a selection of canned meats and vegetables, but about how fruitless that was considering how banal such morsels were, _blegh. _

The rest didn't matter; all that did matter was drugs. If he stayed like this for a prolonged period of time, he was sure his sanity would be inexorably shattered and he would kill the first person he saw.

Given years of use and abuse, the sequence of withdrawal symptoms to Nutty was almost like an algorithm; first an abnormal heat flash. Followed by disorientation and grogginess, then an immense pain on his stomach, than finally his sanity and state of mind were the last things to go.

If he still had his personal belongings, things would be different. He'd use up the rest of his crank and Peruvian marching powder and leave the playing field in the pure bliss that swam through his consciousness when he was high. The squirrel sighed, recalling the utter contentment that he was lacking, the happy escape that had become routine – a necessary practice to help him survive the day.

He wanted to go cold turkey in the past; he really did…still do, even. But…there were times when it was just too hard to pass up. When the desperation sunk in and the cravings became too insistent. _You messed up piece of fuck up, couldn't even give it up for he- oh god._

Suddenly a wave of nausea rolled over Nutty and he turned to the side, throwing up the little contents that remained in his stomach. The bile tasted sour, and he could feel the stomach acid stinging inside his nostrils. He knew that he should try to replenish his system, but the nausea prevented the boy from putting any nutrients inside his body.

Nutrients, ha. Nothing sweet enough for him… No sugar, candy, dessert or coke…just, ugh.

The normally hyperactive squirrel turned lethargic got up with a groan before slumping back down as his stomach and brain both clashed into each other doing cartwheels. Getting reacquainted with the checkered floor, Nutty let his one good eye lackadaisically drift upwards at a homemade can of venison.

_Poor Mime. _Looking at it suspiciously, he honestly wondered if any of this crap would give him some sort of virulent infection and give him even more pain than he was in right now. What if it killed him? _Malnutrition is more likely to do that to you my friend. Hah, as if natural causes of death is really something I need to worry about out here._

Clenching his belly once more, trying languidly to regain his bearings, "Fuck it." Was all he decided to mutter aloud as his hunger and want to try and fill this emptiness inside practically forced him to his feet (though not exactly sturdily).

With a few pained chuckles (a verbal tic that has formulated over the years), and nearing the metal sink with an anemic stance that contained all the grace and majesty of an inebriated Russell (Contestant #27) with only one wooden peg, he was able to grasp the counter to support his body's weight before his legs gave out.

The nausea came on again, as the rapid head motion of his skull jerking forward towards the sink's drain galvanized the urge to purge. His loosely donned poncho came undone, revealing his half nakedness from the waist up. He had stripped off his shirt due to the bouts of heat flashes earlier (that and he generally felt more comfortable without one on, no constriction) and could now see his reflection in the closed window just above the sink, the dark forest serving as the perfect backdrop to allow himself to see it clearly.

Sure the raindrops individually exploded down on it as if they were translucent miniscule mortar shells, and the constant noise of pitter pattering and droning of the nature in the background was a bit distracting, but still. He could see himself just fine

With another regurgitation, another wiping of the bile from his lips later, he glanced once more at himself through the reflection. His eyes baggy and feral, his visage less than endearing and percolating with illness and bereave, suffice it to say he looked as shitty as he felt.

Fighting the cocktail of symptoms in his body, he had enough motor control to turn on the faucet as potable water flowed instantly from the metal spigot much to his relief. Cupping both hands together and letting water cultivate within his hands and splashing it in his face; a sense of comfortable briskness served as a slight reprieve from the hell his world had been; he now felt well enough to smile and giggle again. The first giggle he had of genuine happiness in quite some time (_depends on how much you were knocked out_).

He repeated the process of amassing water and rinsing himself with it to try and get himself back into focus, a decent amount sprayed on himself as well as fell to the floor, but the squirrel didn't care, he was just ever so slightly feeling his withdrawal abate…and that there was progress.

As Nutty blinked a few times to remove the excess moisture from trickling into his eyes the leaves suddenly distilled long enough to let out a decent amount of moonlight; the whiteness seeping through the window and pervading the mien of the room as if it were a bad omen.

As the moonlight basked down on Nutty through the rectangular portal that was the window, vaguely the outlines of a certain woman's face drifted into his thoughts, briefly overshadowing the drug-addled delusions of his cognizance. Her features becoming more defined as the etched themselves into his mind.

A perfectly symmetric, round face with a well-defined nose, thinly curved eyebrows and a gorgeous pair of eyes that matched her brows elegance with an upward inflection, giving her a fairly surreal, yet aristocratic look.

Her pulchritude over her physiognomy most definitely extended to her hair as well, with her long blue hair with streaks of indigo running through it like a pigmented waterfall of keratin, it was not difficult to see how the girl's visage slipped in his mind with relative ease; after all, he did have a pretty big crush on her.

Nutty was conferred just a moment of lucidity; just enough of a break from this narcotic madness to visualize the unwitting girl of his dreams…and that altogether seemed to make his ailment fade away.

He smiled drunkenly to himself as he thought more and more about it, sighing dreamily as his illness mitigated itself through the sheer power of limerence.

Chalk it up to infatuation, chalk it up to love, chalk it up to some other emotion on some tenuous scale. But what was absolutely clear was that Nutty was one hundred percent, irreversibly, abso-frigging-lutely smitten by-

A sudden disruption in the light gleaming onto Nutty caused him to focus on the outdoors. It would seem as if something was blocking it and now he could vaguely make out the silhouette of somebody stalking through the wilderness.

Without even really thinking, Nutty threw himself to the ground as if he were under fire in a hope that he would elude the attention of whoever just waltzed by. After a moment of tense cowering, Nutty tentatively got to his feet and peered outside into the rainy forest to investigate. Despite the somewhat marred visibility, Nutty still had enough foresight to notice the figure dash by his sanctuary without a care. For that he was incredibly thankful, really, with his entire heart.

The outline of the anonymous contestant outside didn't resemble anything feminine, so most likely it wasn't _her_. All the same, he had no intentions whatsoever of meeting anybody else in the game. He was perfectly content to remain isolated in this temporary haven, secluded from all the murder and conflict that was raging on outside. Though he really wish he had some drugs, _or Petunia in your company, but she's with Toothy…ain't he?_

Nutty shivered once more, sighing dismally at the prospect. No, not sighing, more like groaning dejectedly. _Well…as selfish as it is, maybe you'll at least bowl her over in here, and maybe with this new rule you could both make it out of this alive…_

The thought was fucked up, and Nutty was fully aware of it. A sudden pressure in his stomach corroborated the sheer morbidity of the dark thoughts that had just crossed his mind. It wasn't at all easy coming to terms with the thought, could he even? He didn't even know if it was viable to even come to grips with such a notion.

As his high came down, and his pragmatic reasoning (however marred by years of sugar, caffeine and drug abuse) began to take over…the cravings came back.

All he knew was that he needed some Dust, and that he had none.

Cuddles (Contestant #16) owed Nutty some drugs, didn't he? If he could find Cuddles, Nutty would take some from him.

_No, Cuddles' not using anymore. He stopped…a month or two before he starting seeing that Giggles girl, right?_

Nutty pushed himself to his feet. He swayed for a moment, goosebumps rising all over his skin from the ice that raced through his veins. The urge to vomit returned, but there wasn't anything for Nutty to remove from his system, and so the impulse passed, unsatisfied. His messy, sticky hair was matted down against the back of his neck due to the glucose and saccharine coating associated with his neon green mop of keratin, as well as pasted to his acne-laden forehead. Nutty went back to the tap and drenched his face once more, hoping that cooling himself and washing away the sweat from his face would allow the boy to warm up and chase away the chills.

_If Cuddles' not using anymore, then I'm sure he won't mind giving me what is left of his stash._

The thought of having Cuddles' supply made Nutty smile drunkenly to himself, the toothy grin punctuated with a bout of hyperactive giggles. Cuddles always knew how to get the best stuff, and he never minded sharing it either. The guy didn't like to use by himself – called himself a "social junkie". That always made Nutty laugh, that Cuddles wanted to escape from reality only when there was someone else around. He liked to have company when he traveled in his drug haze – when he was, ultimately, alone.

But somewhere inside Nutty's brain, a vague memory appeared of Cuddles handing over to him the box that contained his stash. Nutty sullenly nodded to himself, sensing the nausea threatening to return with such intense head movement.

"That's right," he said softly to himself, " Cuddles already gave me his stuff when he decided to quit." _Shit._

The squirrel swayed dangerously on his feet and his stomach did flip-flops inside his gut. The world spun as the Nutty's eyes rolled upwards into his head for just a moment before they focused once again on the village.

_Well fuck, that eliminates that scenario…so what now?_

Well, ruminating on it to the best of his abilities, Nutty could only conceive of two options. One, stay here and deteriorate until he was a mindless husk and die. Or two, go out there, possibly try to play and survive…if he did go out there though, then the plot seriously would thicken. What would he do from there? Play? Run and hide? Or try finding drugs, or more importantly…the apple of his eye…

_Find her, make her listen, she needs to know. Can't let this habit beat you, huh my friend? You didn't have the guts to ask her to the prom, did ya, well how's this for courage? Come on, do something about yourself you fucked up piece of screw-up. Foolish, foolish, don't do it. No, gotta tell her, last chance on the wall. You'll die, you know that? We'll all die regardless, might as well make your last hours matter, right? As long as she doesn't say thanks but no thanks, oh god I hope she doesn't say no. Who knows… If we survive this together, she'll finally realize that I am the man for her. I'll become her knight in shining armor especially if I happen to save her from a deadly situation in this game._

He almost couldn't believe the self-centered nature of his thoughts right here and now. Was he really insinuating that he would kill his neighbors and former friends in a retributive gesture to save himself and a girl that he wasn't even in a relationship with… But was this really how he wanted his eventual death to be? Alone and slowly losing his mind from drug and love deprivation? Hell no, that was definitely not a favorable way to go. But it looked like the best choice he had at the moment, unless he wanted to throw himself out into that _clusterfuck_ outside. And no way, that's not gonna happen, definitely absolutely not, no sir.

What could he do in terms of defense anyhow? His designated weapon (A crossbow that lie in his splayed open pack without even the slightest hint of assembly or sully) was quite formidable, but it was no shotgun or chainsaw. And the truth of the matter was he wasn't sure if he could actually kill or maim anybody with it.

Nutty wasn't even sure if his weapon was good or bad compared to the others, and that question had been lost as more important ones had arisen – which direction should he go? Was he going to die? Where were his drugs? Where was Petunia (Contestant #17)? Why couldn't they have their roster spots next to each other instead of that psychotic basket case Flippy (Contestant #18) separating them?

The most important sentence of inquiry however was a fairly simple one… Was Petunia safe?

She could be inches away from the muzzle of a gun right this moment, he would have no idea if that were the case, and that rattled Nutty to the very core (even more so than the lack of heroin).

But still, he didn't have it in him to set off and rescue her and play the part of Romeo, did he? It seemed an impossible thing to do, to leave the safety of his shelter and head out in the open. It would take a serious hero to do something that... suicidal, and Nutty was no martyr.

He could be.

The thought came as a bit of a surprise even to the boy himself, but for some cryptic reason it made sense. Despite the fact that it seemed unbelievably stupid, it made sense to him. He couldn't just stand idly bye for... well, as long as he could before his area went danger. It might've been the smart thing to do, it might allow him to avoid most of the killers out there, it might even allow him to win the game by some miraculous coincidence, but he didn't think he could do that. It just felt so... helpless. If they wanted him to serve as cannon fodder in this god forsaken game, he wouldn't let them have it. He simply couldn't allow whatever sick fucks are watching the show watch him die. He wanted to prove them wrong. He _needed _to prove them wrong!

Nutty may not be well-suited for this Battle Royale, but he wouldn't be helpless.

He could make a difference. He wouldn't fight. He could convincingly scare them off, maybe, but he wouldn't willingly hurt. Self defense, that was a gray area, yeah, no, maybe. _I guess only time will tell._

Just a few moments ago, all Nutty wanted in his now limited lifespan was peace, quiet, and drugs…and now only one of those things were still a variable in his future. His mind was still swimming in dementia and his body was still weak, but damn it he couldn't be content with just being in his lonesome.

To him, fearful isolation was not an optimal way to spend ones last few hours, far from it. A persistent part of his mind told him that perhaps he should take his chances outside. On the one hand, it could spell an early end, but on the other it also gave him that two percent chance to live. It gave him the chance to find a friend, or just anybody to talk to, maybe even _her_.

That settled it, physically he still had the detoxification wracking through him, and mentally he was just as bad. But Petunia was his priority, but was it worth protruding his bare neck on the guillotine? There was no reason to dally, especially since he had no intention of fighting anyone needlessly. If he was attacked, he would run. If he was aggravated to the point of no return... well, then they would get what was coming to them, wouldn't they? All matters aside, if there was ever a time and place for playing Romeo, it was yet and elsewhere. _You'll find her, or she'll come to you. True love always prevails, you see._

"I don't want to die," Nutty spoke loudly, unmindful of who might hear him. "But I'll find you before anything happens to you, Petunia. I'll protect you from all that's out there, I promise you." The magnitude of the feat was dizzying, but Nutty was confident he could take it on (or at least full of false bravado that it would).

Sauntering over to his pack, he saddled it over his shoulders and quickly equipped the crossbow to his trembling hands. Nutty turned around and made to sprint for the door and out into the game with as much speed and balance as he could; balance being something he seriously could've used.

Had he not promptly slipped on a puddle of water created by the still running faucet and smashed his head against the solid marble kitchen counter, he probably would have seemed a lot more convincing.

* * *

Running than she could ever recall doing in her lifetime (or more than she ever would again)…wait a moment, hah, running. That was a misnomer if she had ever heard one, wheeling is more suitable.

Wheeling on her wheelchair with more vehemence than ever before, Coral (Contestant #30) felt as though her arms were on fire. Being that she was a mermaid and legs were an intrinsic appendage she was not endowed with, she often had to resort to using a wheel chair as a method of conveyance whenever on land.

It sucked, being so handicapped and vulnerable out here. _Social Darwinism, survival of the fittest out here, ain't it? Too bad you ain't one of them girl, far fuckin' from it._

Though things weren't all bad, being a mermaid out in the rain that was French-kissing this island at least gave Coral an ambience that she could really appreciate. Felt especially good on her tail and especially her bare skin, it was almost like a microcosm of the ocean for her except without actually being submerged in the briny blue.

She let out a sigh as she stopped suddenly on the side of the road she happened to be moving on, emerging from the wild grass with some traction that equated to difficulty for her chairs' wheels to conquer. Once she got on asphalt, she could spot the lights of the town like a savanna of paper lanterns, it was still quite some distance away as she continued to meander about in the square-mile of space that was Zone E-2.

With another intake of the invigorating oxygen through her respiratory system, she got enough of a boost from that to continue to cart herself down the isolated path.

The road that circled the village kept her distracted for a good while, at least it kept her distracted from the sheer gravity of the situation she was in. Truth be told, she was still surprised she had the sound of mind to let her mind wonder at all, which is why it was quite the enigma when she started to sing.

_"I'm singing in the rain," _She began,_ "What a glorious feelin', I'm happy again. I'm laughing at clouds so dark up above the sun's in my heart, and I'm ready for love…"_

A familiar _thump_ erupted within her chest once she mentioned that word.

_Love._

Love was a construct she was familiar with in an utmost intimate sense.

_Love_

Love drove her in life, love decided her intentions. She was truly, madly, deeply in love. And as the fates would have it, her love was thrust in the Battle Royale with her.

She couldn't find them early on in the game, she had run off too quickly to hide away, and almost instantly she hated herself. She missed out. She missed out on her love, and that had hit her the hardest. She spent a lot of time crying silently and wondering why it had all happened. She was not a bad person. More than anything else she wanted to help people. She wanted to get into child psychology, help out the autistic and children with various other disorders.

She was broken from her incipient sadness and paused slightly as she could hear distant gunshots. Could it be that it's already beginning? Was everyone really starting to get into the fighting? No, that couldn't be. We're good people, no one wants to really do this, right? Then again, there were some who probably would. Flippy (Contestant #18) and his proclivities for "flipqing out" and going on grisly murder sprees as so many eloquently dubbed it, he was certainly one to look out for. Lifty (Contestant #14) and Shifty (Contestant #11) were criminals and fighters, they'd have been poor choices to contend with; same with their girlfriends' Josie (Contestant #2) and Jozie (Contestant #25). They would likely meet together in this game and pull a double Bonnie and Clyde dynamic and really be forces to reckon with. Then again, out here the gangs might have been the stronger way to go. Can't always trust someone, but better to trust someone than no one, right? Be in a pack surrounded by murders instead of being one of their scavenged morsels, right?

Murder. Murder was the name of the game. Murder was the only way she could survive in this game. It was murder or be murdered. But could she in all honesty really be expected to do something that depraved? They wanted her here, and they want her to murder her friends and crush. That was awful, it was something somebody in good conscience should never do.

Murder's against the law, even in our screwed up world, there's still some things against the law, right? Under most circumstances, yes, but self-defense, that's legal, right? If everyone else is trying to kill you, killing one of them is, nothing, right? Self defense. Self defense all the way baby!

She let out a dead chuckle.

"Who the fuck am I kidding?" she asked aloud to no one.

Her face grimaced as she continued to amble alongside the road in the rain like a disabled war veteran (except here the war was only beginning).

She couldn't kill; she knew that. She wasn't even sure if she could do it in self-defense. MAYBE in self-defense, but that was a big maybe. She kept psyching herself up. Self-defense is one thing, _but when everyone else is stronger than you_. The thought disturbed her, much like the death she knew to be imminent.

Not only did she not have the conscience to slaughter, but physically she couldn't do it even if she wanted to. Her designated weapon, humorously enough was a handgun. By all rights a damn formidable weapon in most hands, an unstoppable one in the most capable among the contestant pool, but not her. Oh no, not her.

She couldn't aim to save her life and didn't even seem to possess the strength to pull the trigger.

She was nauseated when she discovered it, pulling it out of her drab olive-green bag out of sheer necessity, it was impossible to distinguish if it was an auto or a semi judging by the looks of it. According to the manual that came with it, it appeared to be a Beretta 9mm pistol, police special apparently. Sleek and larger than her hand, scowling at the weapon of mass destruction, it nauseated her to think the turpitude and depraved possibilities of someone who would justify themselves playing the game with one of these pocket cannons.

At first it appeared to be a toy of some sort, the polymer L-shaped firearm suspending her belief in it being a movie prop until she discovered the fifteen very real and deadly bullets jammed into the prepackaged magazine.

"Russell…" She murmured quietly to herself as her eyes softened. It nauseated Coral to think that any of her neighbors and friends could justify playing the game, but she wasn't completely wrong. It was nature. Something that they had in them innately, no matter how you span it, that was the sad truth.

Rape, murder, and plunder, all concepts invented and taken up by humans. What was to say her competitors wouldn't devolve into savages and barbarians?

But violence wasn't the sole human construct. Loyalty. Friendship. Love. There was so much more than self-preservation and betrayal that the human spirit was capable of. And Coral was determined to see it through.

She wanted to find a way out, but knew that as well was impossible. The best she could really hope for was finding her love and hoping to work things out from there. Maybe rehash some good times before the inevitable end? That's what she'd have liked to do more than anything else, grab a couple of beers (well, she was a fan of soda personally, though her partner was a big fan of the champagne) and sit on the roof of a building, watching the stars, making love and waiting for the inevitable.

She could only curse her luck, not good luck mind you. But just luck of the draw that she wound up on the one passenger plane that would send her to her death.

Luck, lucky that she got a gun? Lucky that the object of her infatuation was in here with her, yet unlucky enough to be here in the first fucking place. She knew it was so goddamn self-centered of her to be thankful of the fact Russell (Contestant #27) was here with her. In what could be considered an existentialists ultimate rumination, Coral couldn't even begin to fathom the circumstances that had arranged for all thirty-six of them to be here.

Both in terms of happenstance, planning, and in general the variables that shaped and molded their collective lives and existences…and all of that to amount to this. Discouraging, isn't it? Was it some sort of punishment or sick twisted game the universe had decided to play on them for some abstruse transgression, just sheer vicissitude, or what?

Coral supposed she had no idea, all she hoped to do was find Russell and hope everything worked itself out. _He's tough, he knows what he's doing. Maybe he can put this gun you got to good use, of course what really makes you think he'll want to keep around a cripple like you?_

A deathly silence pervaded the milieu as she continued to cart down the road outside the village, the rain continuing to pour down as if the heavens themselves were crying as the moonlight shattered blades of white light all through the droplets and around the paraplegic mermaid. This served as quite the optimal atmosphere for a heavy spree of deliberation on love, life, friendship and philosophy.

She mused at how she initially came into the game shaking like a leaf in a hurricane and on the verge of vomiting over herself (though her terror still admittedly hadn't abated much), yet still had the sound of mind to let her mind wander.

Coral subconsciously began to pick up the pace as the vegetation and encroaching forest steadily escalated in density and concentration, the herbage swatting at her as she carried on into the darkness. _Come on, a little further, just a bit further._

By the time she ran into, and was knocked over by Blaze (Contestant #34) in the darkness, she was panting quite noticeably. Though given that she had toppled from her chair and was too stunned to get up, minor fatigue was the least of her worries.

They were both knocked down to the ground from the collision, but Blaze had the luxury to fall back on his pack filled with his provisions, cushioning the fall while Coral let her gun clatter away and just landed roughly on her side against the unforgiving earth.

After their impact, Coral lay sprawled out on the ground like a fish out of water (well, half-fish anyhow), looking about terrified as Blaze retrieved the gun that belonged to her and trained it between the whites of her eyes. Looking at her, Blaze saw nothing but a useless half fox half fish freak hybrid breathing heavily. Lousy girl, but at least her weapon was a worthwhile find. She's no threat. Hardly worth one of the limited bullets in his ungainly, and newly accrued gun. For a while, the two remained still, making no moves, never breaking eye contact. Blaze kept his gun trained on the other contestant, ready for her to make a move that wouldn't come and ready to strike her should she even try. She remained still, terrified like a deer in headlights at the firearm trained to shoot her between the eyes.

Blaze could only look on in disdain. See, in his world, people like this shouldn't exist. They're fragile, delicate pricks that society adulates despite them doing nothing to deserve it. They're about as useless as a girl without a vagina (_Speaking of which…_) and they'll always die early due to their _condition _making any of the crap you throw at them to make their lives significant, completely useless. In this world, people like this simply aren't competent enough to actually stand alone to the rest of the world, so to compensate they get all the special treatment and sympathy and other happy-pappy welfare. Shit, in Blaze's mind It was social Darwinsim at it's finest, people should let nature sort out the freaks and the cripples away from the able-bodied and physically prime such as himself.

Survival of the fittest, such an easy concept to grasp, too bad those around him oft times didn't get it. It was simple logic really; if you couldn't make it in life, there wasn't even a real reason to live anymore. The weak were useless.

Handicaps like Coral, you may give them all the fancy treatment and special benefits the world has to offer but in the end, they fucking can't work properly. They just take up space, use up our resources and annoy the hell out of the normal people just cause they're _special_. Mutations like this that weren't natural and likely some sort of hereditary fuck up, they needed to be eradicated, to which Blaze would have no problem with…

Blaze recalled his parents had to learn that the hard way with his brother Fervor. They tried to give him all those expensive medications and treatments but he still died before his twenty-first birthday. And what did that leave them? A shitty hell of a life since his birthparents, being the ever-endearing, Nobel prize winning geniuses they were, used up all of their money on his deceased ass. Best Blaze could figure, maybe this was the universe conspiring to help him get some proper revenge.

With quick reflexes, Blaze pounced upon the girl, repeatedly slamming the butt of his pistol into her forehead with a satisfying THOCK. Yeah bitch, you like that, don't you? Yeah, take it, lose it, just let it happen.

A vague part of the wolf's mind told him that he should've been feeling guilt and compassion over what he was doing, but the strange thing was not only did he not. But polar opposite, this felt euphoric, it felt right…it felt like his jingoistic sense of ableism was being appeased.

After the fifth impact, he watched as she dropped to the ground and consciousness left her body. Perfect, just perfect. Grabbing her backpack, he unzipped it and looked through its contents as he viewed the situation.

The weak ones, just like they did out in the real world, would be finished off first. After that, a good percentage would massacre each other, hopefully leaving just him…maybe even Splendid and somebody else worthy of surviving with him, perhaps Flippy (Contestant #18) or Cub (Contestant #6).

Blaze sighed tritely. He may not have been particularly intimate with most of the people forced in here, but he also didn't have a personal grudge against the majority either. He felt neither pride or pleasure when it came to the daunting endeavor of dispatching thirty-five others who would commit no other crime aside from crossing him at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

It was survival of the fittest for fucks sake, and unless he managed to do whatever he had to do, he'd wind up little more than a nameless victim being carried out of here in a body bag that likely wouldn't even be fitted for a toe tag.

Despite the odds against him, Blaze reasoned that survival of the fittest was the ultimate principle to abide by; the feeble and weak ones of the gene pool were meant to die while the victors went out to conquer. It was simple enough to follow, but unfortunately, there were some that just didn't give up.

The moment The Director announced that they were going to be thrown into this game for our lives; Blaze knew that he would participate in the killings. There were only a few things you could do in the program anyway. It's either you fight to survive, you hide or you try to escape. Technically, death's another option but who'll be stupid enough to choose that? There's no way Blaze would resort to hiding since cowardice is for fucking pussies like Flaky (Contestant #12). Besides, someone would eventually find him anyway and that would still result in killing. Blaze seriously doubted there was any chance of escaping this shitstorm since he couldn't find a flaw in the system. Then again, Blaze was in no way smart enough to think of a fucking plan to get out of here.

Maybe that geek Sniffles (Contestant #31), could find a way to remove these annoying collars. The only question is why would he even bother with helping Blaze when they were tried and true adversaries back at home? Even if he did manage to find that dweeb and force him to remove his collar, it's not like the wolf would be enlightened of whatever crap he's doing to the collar. He could fucking detonate it and Blaze would've be none the wiser.

Otherwise, Blaze may not have been enough of a genius to figure out a way out of here, but at least he had enough brains to know a few good survival strategies and think about this whole game pragmatically.

Numbers were the key. A lone person like Coral was no threat. He didn't worry about the individuals. He worried about the groups that were inevitably going to form or had already formed, the batches of friends turned into teams of vigilante warriors. They would be the ones to prey upon the individuals like Coral, or him. They would prey upon the individuals and steal their supplies, making it so they wouldn't starve or dehydrate. Blaze wanted the numbers on his side as he looked at it. By keeping as much food and water as he could to himself, he would keep it away from the groups, and they would turn upon themselves as soon as the hunger and dehydration hit. It was simple math.

Statistics had proven that hunger was a great source of irritation. Keep the groups hungry, and they'll be more likely to turn upon their own and kill each other. Simple as that. Not that Blaze relied entirely on that though, oh no, he was ready, willing and able to make sure hunger and dehydration weren't the only causes of death out here. Quite the contrary, he was looking forward to seeing his pistol's capabilities in combat and taking lives... and their supplies of course.

Pillaging Coral's pack, he grabbed her water bottles and food and crammed them into his own pack. The rest was inconsequential.

He considered putting a bullet in her head, but then he realized he didn't have to kill her. The others would pick her off, no sweat, and he wouldn't even have to waste a single bullet from the limited supply of his newly acquired weapon. No way was she making it out of this thing alive, let alone being a threat to his existence in this thing.

Though as he kicked her frail, unconscious body around a little bit; he got a brilliant idea, one that caused a figurative light bulb to brighten over his head; and as a wise man once said, "good ideas should never be wasted".

Now see, he hadn't wielded his assigned weapon out simply due to how…inefficient it was in terms of killing potential.

Blaze had opened his daypack to see the shit load of stuff the government filled their program goodie bags with. It had the map and a compass, three one liter bottles of water with a 'please recycle' stamp on it, _as if I give a fuck about recycling in a time like this. _

It also had some utterly banal MRE's contained in silver Mylar bags that were inflated with nitrogen; it looks and probably tastes like cardboard. Freeze-dried bread, meat fruits and veggies always tasted like cardboard anyhow. Then there were was a long black flashlight, a cheap looking watch and a ream of sheet paper transcribed with all of the names of his competition, and those who would tragically have to perish in order for him to survive.

But undoubtedly the biggest disappointment of all was the random weapon he received in his bag. Blaze was half-expecting it to contain a kickass assault rifle or at least a wicked spear since the pack was a bit heavy and was poking on both sides but apparently, this fuckin' shitty-ass game was in a goddamn recession. His supposed _spear _turned out to be a long curtain hanger with matching curtains to boot.

The rod was made of metal but it would easily bend after one strike. The curtain was, well, a stupid fucking curtain, a retarded shade of pink at that. In short, the best Blaze could hope to do with his "weapon" was to hit someone on the head with the stick then strangle him to death with the faggy fabric. Of course now, it just may serve a better purpose afterall.

* * *

Blaze got the awful looking curtains out of his daypack and made a strong knot to tie the two fabrics together. Good thing he had learned some advanced knots provided he had to often scavenge materials himself for sustenance's sake. He then grabbed the unconscious body of the mermaid by her tail, dragging her on the forest floor roughly and likely giving her a few bangs and scrapes. _Eh, she deserves it for getting my hands slimy against this fucking mutant fish-scale shit anyhow._

Blaze then tied her up to a nearby tree; the curtain being long enough to wrap her around thrice: By her torso, her hips and her _fin_. The knots were tight enough to have her hanging around for the whole duration of the game without much muss or fuss, or at least until the area became a Danger Zone. Blaze felt a modicum of gratification observing his masterpiece, deciding to call it "Tied-up Freak."

With a wry chuckle, Blaze got her daypack that was still lying around by the bushes and opened it to steal her viands. He looted her food and water and spare ammunition for her gun and transferred it to his now spacious daypack.

Blaze picked up all of his stuff again, ready to make his way out into the battlefield.

Jogging further through the forest, he knew he had two options. He could hole himself up in one of the buildings indicated on the map, or he could go and be the hunter. Of the options, being the hunter or being the hunted, he liked the idea of being the hunter more. Resolving to become the hunter, Brian stopped in his jog. He heard voices. Multiple voices. Looking down at his Beretta in what could almost be considered reverence, Blaze smiled…

* * *

Cuddles (Contestant #16) maintained his leadership over the group, just as he had back in Happy Tree Town. He knew it, as well as his friends knew it as they all continued to trudge through the forest. With his randomly assigned Ruger Mini-14 rifle held high, as well as Giggles' (Contestant #33) Smith & Wesson Model 19 revolver jammed down the waist of pants; the ammunition from a box of bullets currently stuffed in the pockets of his jeans.

As long as he had the weapons, he had the power. He figured. The others…they were cannon fodder, collateral, excess weight. Whatever way Cuddles looked at it, they were his friends sure, but he wasn't stupid either. He knew damn well under the gun of the grim reaper that his "friends" were full well out to get him as much as he was to them. Hell, out of all present here, he wouldn't be surprised if Mole (Contestant #23) would be the one to do it; the stranger that only became a proponent of their paradigm solely due to the magnanimity of Petunia (Contestant #17), easily the most generous of them all.

Looking back at Mole again, he grimaced at his chrome machete as it glimmered malevolently in the moonlight, each individual dome of rainwater that adhered to the shiny surface not distilling the effect much.

Speaking of the rain, in continued to shower cats and dogs as the sextuple set of Tree Friends trudged abysmally through the forest, the downpour that swept from overhead hampering their visibility and soaking them through their governmentally assigned ponchos (Mole being the sole abstainer).

These were trivial inconveniences as best as Cuddles figured though. What truly mattered were those who marched with him in a horizontal line, yeah. They may've all been wet, but they were alive and they were united under him. The more people he had not trying to kill him, the better he felt, and the more likely he would be able to figure a plan out to really know what the hell was going on here.

Looking back, he thought that he should have felt better about the group. They were his friends, sure, but what good would they be in a survival situation? What good would they be when their asses were really on the line?

Mole was entirely dead weight, but if Cuddles was to stay alive, he knew it would have to be with his friends, and for his compatriots not to be against him, he had to keep them happy. Part of this entailed allowing the blind man to be kept along with Petunia, the unbelievably natural beauty and humanitarian of the group.

She was far too much of one for her own good, let alone this game. But numbers were an integral denominator here, so albeit with reluctance, Mole had to keep trucking for now, at least as long as Petunia would drag him around blind.

Cuddles once again spat onto the mossy ground, generally he perceived that as quite the dirty habit, but if it made him look more hardy, then most certainly it would suffice. Besides, it mitigated the tension ever so slightly.

Lugging his backpack over his shoulder as he walked along, he tightened the grip on his Mini-14. It seemed like a load of luck being given something like _that_ in the weapon lottery, being that this rifle was basically idiot-proof and a smaller, semi-automatic lightweight beast derived from the M14. But no, it wouldn't be easy to tame this bitch. After all, it wasn't like the video games where it was all simply a matter of point and shoot. No, here it was point, keep pointing, try to shoot and hope something hits home.

Craning his neck, he grimaced as he glanced over at his, "friends". They were all either staring at the ground, frightened out of their wits, and if they weren't, they were staring deftly at their leader, almost like they expected something; the rain that continued to drop and dot on all six of them hardly relenting or doing anything to change this matter. Hell, they probably thought he knew what he was doing as if he'd been through this before.

Sadly, that wasn't the case. In fact, it was just the opposite.

He was clueless. He just hoped they wouldn't realized that he had accidentally lead them in complete circles. The moment they realized that the person that they all assumed as calm and collected had no clue what to do, the whole group would simply collapse in a frenzy.

"I'm tired, Cuddles, and sopping wet!"

He did his best not to scowl at Giggles (Contestant #33) his girlfriend, best friend, and annoyance since the day they had met, who was now shambling along beside him. Her pink and bushy hair cropped underneath her oversized blood-red bow was cluttered with twigs and dirt. Her eyes were bloodshot, and strangely enough for somebody who always complained and being a vehement eco-warrior, she didn't at all seem to appreciate their trek through the organic forest. In fact, she seemed to be making it as apparent as possible that she was irritated beyond all reprieve. Despite her somewhat prodigal spending habits, ditsy manner, and in general her stereotypical propensities of a teenage girl, the kind that would get a thesaurus full of synonyms to describe her from their classmates, Cuddles had become quite attached to Giggles. For what reason, well, love was blind, right?

Cuddles forced a sarcastic smile. "It's fine Giggles. We're all wet and tired too, but I'll tell you what. The moment we find some wood, we'll build a chariot and carry you around on our backs. Don't worry, you're safe with us."

She giggled. "Promise?"

"Promise".

Needing a self-esteem booster, he reached over to hook his arm over her shoulder and kiss her. Halfway there though, she ended up scowling in annoyance and retreating to the back of the group with her arms folded. The other three were all walking in a horizontal line, and although none had really said much since the game started, they were easily the three that Cuddles was the most concerned about.

Toothy (Contestant #8) was walking alongside Petunia (Contestant #17), his on-and-off girlfriend. Easily the bystanders of the group who as of late really spent more time with each other versus the collective of the group (two of which were perspicuously absent). Nobody could pinpoint what it was, but periodically and oft not sporadically, friction would develop every once in a while between the two, and sooner or later friction led to the formation of sparks. They would argue over the most trivial of matters, and clash like their lives were on the line which would seriously prompt most to question why they had become infatuated in the first place. Yet for some cryptic reason nobody could really fathom, every time she would vow to call it quits, and that she would never bring herself to his depths again, they always came back to one another like entropy, but in reverse. And then the whole cycle would repeat itself. After half a dozen times, most no longer even recognized it as a problem and just assumed it was a vicious, yet self-regulating cycle that neither party could, or pretended they couldn't break off from.

In the end however, one basically couldn't function without the other. Ever since they had left the school though, they had been talking…whispering..._plotting?_

The last in line was both the least important and strangest of the entire gang: Mole (Contestant #23). Besides whistling softly to himself and being pulled around and consoled by Petunia, he hadn't really contributed much to any discussion at all and the rest of them largely ignored his presence.

"Does anyone have any idea where the fuck we are going?" Toothy asked with all the eloquence he could muster.

"Just follow me," Cuddles said confidently.

"Why, is there something we don't know about?" Petunia asked.

"I don't know if any of you have looked, but we all have maps in our bags," Cuddles said, never once looking back, "there's some buildings in this direction. If we keep going this way, we can make ourselves a stronghold and figure out what the hell is going on, that make sense?"

"Hey, didn't we pass that rock before?" Toothy asked.

He was smirking. He had obviously caught onto the idea that their leader had no clue what the hell he was doing. Under his purple and scraggly skater hair, that face with the blatant beaver buck-teeth that jutted out like a sore thumb was almost begging to be knocked in by a fist.

Cuddles glared despondently, feeling too tired and lazy to even attempt to mask the disdain he held in this very moment. "Why don't you come up with a plan then, Toothy?"

"Well, maybe I should. You obviously have no clue what the hell you're doing. I swear, this is probably the third time that we past this spot! We've been wandering in circles!"

"What if I _know_ that I don't have any clue what I'm doing, Toothy? What if I've just been trying to come up with something while pretending we're all going to get out of here and live happily ever after? This isn't a game show! You either live, or you die. The odds are, every single one of us is coming back home in pieces. I'll admit it! I have no clue what I'm doing. Now, what's your brilliant plan?"

"I think someone else should lead", Toothy retorted. "Someone who knows what they're doing".

"Dude, you threw out your weapon because you weren't strong enough to carry it, and now you're saying that you should lead the group? It was a goddamned grenade launcher, too! What a waste!"

Toothy scowled, even through the downpour and darkness, the contemptuous visage could not have been more inflammatory if Toothy had just punched Cuddles right then. "Did I say that I wanted to lead the group, Cuddles? No, I didn't. In fact, I think that Petunia should lead."

At that point, the confidence that could've been noted by any one of them had been sucked dry, even more efficiently than the never ending layers of cascading rain ever could have.

"What? Why me?" Petunia asked dubiously, her facial features expressing nothing but shock as if she had never been acknowledged by anybody for anything before.

"Yeah, why her? Just because she's your plaything?" Cuddles agitatedly barked, any aplomb he had tried to maintain had pretty much been left behind the moment Toothy made it clear he knew Cuddles was full of shit.

"No, because she took in Mole, because she clearly cares for _all _of our well-being's, because…fuck, between the five of us I figure she may have the best idea of where to go."

Cuddles and Petunia just stared nonplussed, and for the first time since they had all gotten together. They all collectively stopped moving at once, as if all five instantaneously comprehended the gravitas of this whole debacle.

"Shit, I'm willing to bet if Cuddles had his way, he'd likely strap us up in bomb-vests and send us running to the school to try to take it out. We may've been friends back home, and arbitrarily still are, but I can feel it. It's goddamn p-palpable the fact Cuddles has no intention of keeping us safe, and he only has us around for his own safety, as far as I can tell he's leading us to a firing range just to put a bullet in the back of each and every one of us!"

Cuddles was lost for words. Out of all the members of the group that could have stood up to him, be it his bitch girlfriend, her friend. Or even the blind, and arguably mute Mole, it was Toothy.

Toothy, who hadn't protested when Cuddles would painfully smack him across the face for the hell of it. Toothy who refused to take part anytime they went down to the parking lot of the abandoned McDonalds to spray graffiti. This was Toothy, the ever-amiable (if a bit naïve) beaver whom Cuddles could always count on. What the hell had gotten into him since the game started?

"Toothy, I-"

"Shut up Cuddles! I've made up my mind! There's no way I'm letting myself die out like a coward in this game! If I have to go down, it's not going to be without a fight. Petunia is a hell of a better fighter than you!"

"Petunia got a life preserver!" Cuddles roared. "She's useless!"

"_Don't call my girlfriend useless_!"

Cuddles wanted to protest. He would have said something too... had it not been for the sharp cracking and pop of a gun. Giggles screamed. Once, twice, Cuddles whirled around on instinct and fired a booming shot from the rifle, and a third time from the smaller gun. The unknown shooter fired twice more, one of them getting Cuddles to cry out as he fired back one last shot towards their attacker.

Feeling fire in her face as they heard one final shot from their attacker, Giggles whirled around and slammed into the ground. They could hear the shooter running away through the trees and underbrush. The rifle must have scared him off, the chipmunk thought grimly, good luck for us.

She winced as she traced fingers over the right side of her face. One shot had grazed her cheek, tearing the flesh and spraying blood in her eye. Nevertheless, she was alive, though spun around and knocked to the ground. She probed the wound, no shattered bone, definitely some tissue and blood loss, nothing fatal. Damn it, why did they have to ruin your face? Of all the places they could strike, why the face? Plastic surgery can't even take care of this, this, this is fucking permanent! Getting back to her feet, Giggles looked around at the others.

"Everyone all right?" Giggles asked, noticing that the other five had hit the floor as well. Toothy was fine, muddied, but fine. Petunia too was all right, with a scrape to her elbow from hitting a tree, but all right. The remainder of the troop was not as fortunate. Cuddles had a ragged graze in the flesh of his left bicep. It was bleeding, but a quick test made it known that his arm was still working. The bone was intact, for now at least. The bleeding was another issue.

"Oh Jesus!" Petunia cried out.

Running to her friend, she could see the spreading blood and thought quick to remedy the problem. Tearing the left sleeve from her long-sleeved shirt, she brought it around Cuddle's arm and tied a loose knot.

"Ready?" Petunia asked.

"Yeah," Cuddles admitted with a modicum of reluctance as she looked at the wound.

Each hand grabbing one end of the sleeve, Petunia prepared to pull it taut as she braced her feet against the ground.

"No, wait!" Cuddles said wildly, then looking to the ground.

Grabbing a stick from the ground and biting into it, he nodded. Petunia pulled the knot as tight as she could, forcing Cuddles into a muted scream as he strained his teeth down into the bite stick to help assuage the agony. The pressure kept down the flow of blood, and the pain soon subsided into a dull throb. Spitting the stick out, Cuddles stood up and grabbed the rifle with her better arm.

"We have to get moving, they could still be out there," he said, not noticing Mole still sprawled out on the ground. Petunia on the other hand was quick to notice and rolled the downed man over.

"Mole," Petunia asked, "you ok?"

Mole didn't bother to respond, instead he only squirmed while on the ground. _I guess he really is mute._

Even with very little light filtering through the trees, they could see the spreading stain and the small hole in his purple turtle neck. Rolling the bottom of the sweater up, Petunia could see a neat little hole in Mole's stomach with a good trickle of blood exiting it.

"Oh shit he's bleeding!" Petunia practically shrieked as she backed away from the girl on the floor.

Hefting the rifle and wincing in pain from her arm, Cuddles said, "I saw a hospital on the map, I think it was..." Cuddles pulled free his map and unfolded it like a scroll, a falter in his confidence as a grimace crossed his face.

"Fuck, never mind…it's all the way on the island's southern point. Well shit, I guess he's DOA then." Cuddles said exasperatedly, getting all of his things in order and preparing to leave behind the good-as-dead mole.

"What the hell? We can't leave him!" Petunia fiercely implored, shooting daggers at the impatient rabbit while helping Mole to his feet.

"What, you're expecting to operate on him, sew him up, fix the problem? It probably tore through everything in his belly!" Cuddles yelled, "We have to get out of here!"

"Maybe," Petunia interjected, "but this is Mole, we can't leave him! What are you talking about, we have to help him!"

"For fucks sake Petunia!" Cuddles said defensively with spite, "He was dead weight in the first place, now he's only gotten worse, we can't afford to take care of him."

He noisily chambered a round from the rifle as he raised the long-gun up to quiet her.

"Look," Toothy interjected for the first time in quite a long time, peering his head up from the map he retrieved from a pouch around his neck, "There's an infirmary nearby in F-3, we can go there."

"We're going to the infirmary, case closed. All of us." Petunia suddenly implored as if it were a foregone conclusion, "We'll bandage ourselves up, barricade ourselves in, and with any luck we'll find a way to make it through this thing. Any objections?"

Cuddles would have, he has the guns and whatnot. But given it seemed to be a unanimous consensus, even with Giggles peering at him with pleading eyes.

He grunted agitatedly and pinched his frustrations out through the bridge of his nose.

"Fine, we'll do it your way," Cuddles reluctantly conceded, "But we need to get a move on, more motherfuckers with worse temperaments than mine are out there…let's haul ass."

And with that, the spirits of the remaining four members was considerably assuaged. Quietly, the quintuplet of Tree Friends made their way to the infirmary, where Petunia and Toothy had to help Mole walk still by bearing his weight on their shoulders. Considering he had been shot in the belly and in unbelievable agony, Mole was reasonable in his ability to keep up. He wasn't exactly tactful in his movements, but still manageable. Nevertheless, the amount of blood he was losing was frightening. Still, Cuddles kept the lead, no longer allowing the pain to take him over. He had a cause, he was in charge. Like it or not, he had a duty. An objective that like it or not, he had to uphold. He had to find a way to keep them all alive.

* * *

Truffles (Contestant #29), had been following the girl for some time, but he still hadn't found the right opportunity to make his move yet. He was fortunate enough to find her during the early hours of the game. She was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, quite obviously somewhere between terrified and confused. It wouldn't be hard to subdue her, maybe even kill her if he could make himself do it. The more he thought about it, the less difficult it seemed. _Yeah, this game is murder, isn't it? That's what they want you to do, so it'll be okay if you do it. You have the means..._

The weapon with which he was assigned, a dagger with a large handle that wielded almost like a sword. It was easy enough to handle, and would undoubtedly prove deadly if he put some force behind the strike. Truffles picked up his dagger and got a good look at it. It was about nine inches long, made of stainless steel, and came with a special handle. In fact, the handle was the most interesting part of the dagger; it was just as long and just as wide as the blade. Truffles found this to be a rather peculiar feature for such a weapon. But he did not complain; it was better than being issued some sort of toy for a weapon. Plus, the longer handle allowed him to grip the dagger with both hands without touching the blade.

So what if the other guys had guns and dynamites? Just one quick stab underneath the chin, run it across the fucker's neck and drain them like a goddamn piglet.

He didn't dare to make his move just yet though. To kill the girl required a precise strike to the throat that would run clean through skin and arterial tissue, something he certainly couldn't do while she was running without regard for her own safety like that. If only he had a gun, he could simply fire away and kill her within seconds, but he didn't. With only the dagger to do it, he had to wait.

The girl had been running for some time now, nearly the better part of an hour since he had found her. She might be fast, but he was faster and he managed to keep up with her. Soon enough she would tire. She would need to stop and catch her breath, or check her assigned map, or perhaps she would simply have to find a hiding place. And then he would strike. Bring down his fist with the knife. She would go down, there was no question about that.

Smiling to himself, Truffles still managed to keep a close eye on the girl he was stalking. _Can't let her slip away, can you?_


End file.
